


What Stays And What Fades

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Minor Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 77,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: An unexpected magical reaction sends thirty-year-old Noctis and his companions, along with Ardyn Izunia, twelve years into the past. In the unrelenting darkness of the world of ruin, Noctis had accepted his destiny, yet here in the light of day, the thought of dying is much harder to bear. Noctis knows he and his companions need to find Ardyn and return to their own time to save his people and his world - but is there a chance they can change anything along the way?
Comments: 741
Kudos: 693





	1. Into the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I typically update on weekends, alternating between this and my other FFXV fic, [Providence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140655). 
> 
> Comments and feedback are always welcome. If you want to chat, I'm on Tumblr as fallintosanity!

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

The throne room looked nothing like Noctis’s last memory of it, ten years ago when he’d set out to get married. Rubble poured down the left side of the room, leaving a gaping hole high up in the wall. A decade’s worth of dust and rot spread out from the corners into the uneasy glow of Insomnia’s dying streetlights. The Crystal hung suspended over the throne, its faint blue shimmer eerie in the shadows. 

Noctis carefully did not look at the bodies strung up like grotesque puppets in the middle of the room. 

“What is that?” Prompto yelped behind him. He must have looked. 

Or maybe he was reacting to Ardyn, sprawled irreverently across the throne. Noctis’s stomach clenched and he gritted his teeth at the sight. 

Ardyn just smiled. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he said. “The throne brings you here? It seats only one.” 

The Crystal’s magic thrummed around them, vibrating through Noctis’s bones. He took a step forward, his voice coming out hard and cold. “Off my chair, jester. The king sits there.” 

“Oh, Noct…” Ardyn purred. “How I have waited for this. Longer than you could ever know.” He rolled to his feet in a single inhuman movement, planting one foot on the throne as if he _knew_ just how much Noctis’s blood boiled at the sight. “Tonight,” Ardyn continued, “the dreams of the blood royal… come to an end.”

Behind Noctis, Gladio grunted. “Spite’s all that’s kept him going,” he muttered. 

“Talk about a grudge,” Prompto murmured back. 

“Ardyn sits the throne?” Ignis asked, and, right. Noctis had almost forgotten, with how easily he moved and fought, that Ignis couldn’t see the room around him. 

Given what hung overhead, it was probably just as well. 

“Not for long,” Noctis said. The Crystal thrummed again, anticipatory, and Noctis called its power to himself. “This is _my_ ascension.” 

His ascension, and his death. But he’d had enough time inside the Crystal to get used to the idea, and now he wanted nothing more than to destroy Ardyn, to cleanse his daemonic stain from the face of Eos. He took a step forward, the Crystal’s magic singing through him. 

Ardyn motioned sharply, and three glowing orbs of daemonic power flew toward Noctis - _no_ , he realized suddenly. Toward his friends, and Noctis reacted without thinking, calling on the Crystal’s power, on the magic singing through his blood, and threw it out toward Ardyn’s orbs.

Power lashed through the room as Noctis’s magic collided with Ardyn’s, light and dark roiling around each other. Noctis had no idea what Ardyn was trying to do to his friends, but he wasn’t going to let it happen. He pushed more power into his defense, feeling the Ring of the Lucii burning on his hand and then forcing himself to ignore it. Ardyn’s face twisted into a scowl and he bore down as well, daemonic energy flaring as it struggled against the Crystal’s light. 

Noctis fought, but Ardyn was older, stronger, with centuries more experience at manipulating the magic of the Lucis Caelum bloodline. Ardyn’s power slithered around the edges of Noctis’s defenses, and he knew he only had a moment to act before it broke through. 

So he called on the Ring, on its power to tear open reality, in the hope of sending Ardyn’s magic into the void. 

Arcane symbols flared and burned in the air, brighter than Noctis had ever seen them. Somewhere behind the Ring’s whispers and the distant hum of the opening void came a faint ticking noise like a sped-up clock, as Ardyn’s orbs stretched and swelled into the void’s growing pull. Red light flashed through the room, bright enough that Noctis yelped in pain and flung an arm over his eyes. He heard his friends cry out as well, and Ardyn up by the throne, and then both the void and Ardyn’s daemonic orbs shattered. 

For an eerie second, silence fell over the throne room. Noctis had just started to lower his arm when the world _throbbed._

Bright white light poured into the throne room from spotlights mounted outside the two vast windows to either side of the throne - _intact_ windows, no mounds of rubble to be seen. More light, warm and soft from electric bulbs, sparkled off the golden panels set into the wall, shone against the spotless marble floor. People lined the sides of the room, men and women in the heavy robes of Lucian councilors or the crisp uniforms of the Crownsguard. The silence changed, no longer the empty silence of a dead city, but the breathless silence of a room full of horrified people. 

And up on the throne, an arm’s length from where Ardyn stood looking as startled as Noctis had ever seen him, sat King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII. 

The impossible tableau held for a single shocked second, then a flurry of movement erupted around the throne that ended with Clarus Amicitia, shield on his arm, standing between Ardyn and Regis, and four Crownsguard surrounding them both with raised weapons. Ardyn had his hands up, an ingratiating, almost apologetic smile on his face as he looked up at Clarus. 

“My deepest apologies for interrupting His Majesty’s council,” Ardyn simpered. Then he turned his head just enough to look down at Noctis, still standing on the floor of the room. The smile turned sharp and deadly, and when Ardyn spoke again his voice was hard and colder than Shiva’s ice. “My dear Noct, it seems we’ll have to continue our… _discussion_ another time.” 

He vanished without another word, even as Noctis made an aborted move forward, even as Clarus swung his shield and the Crownsguard lunged. Someone shouted, someone else screamed - which Noctis thought was completely unnecessary since Ardyn was already gone - and a babble of voices erupted throughout the room. 

Then King Regis snapped, “ _Order!_ ”

His voice stabbed Noctis’s heart like a sword, the voice Noctis hadn't thought he would ever hear again. It likewise cut through the chaos in the room, silencing the panicked chatter. When it was clear he had everyone’s attention, Regis continued calmly, “Councilors, please retire to the Optimus Chamber. I’ll meet with you shortly.” He caught the eye of one of the Crownsguard standing nearby and tilted his head, a clear direction to escort the councilors. As they started moving, he added, “Speak to no one. This is now a confidential situation, understood?”

The councilors acknowledged that with a chorus of _yes, your Majesty's_ and hurried fist-to-heart bows as the Crownsguard herded them through a side door toward the conference room. As they left, most of the remaining ‘Guard moved to surround Noctis and his retinue, though two remained near the throne, along with Clarus. Under the shuffle, Noctis heard Prompto whispering a hurried explanation to Ignis. Gladio stood still as a rock, though at some point he’d moved so close to Noctis he was practically standing on him. Not that Noctis could blame him; this whole situation was surreal, and he had no idea how his father would react. 

Regis was staring at them - at Noctis, and Noct knew he didn't look at all like the punk twenty-year-old kid he’d been the last time he saw his dad, but he hadn't thought he looked so different Regis wouldn't recognize him. Then again, his dad almost never showed emotion he didn't mean to. Beside him, Clarus was scanning the room, his attention as much on the lookout for more threats as it was on Noct and his friends. But then his gaze came to rest on them, and he jerked in surprise, his mouth forming Gladio’s name.

Noctis saw his dad notice; saw his eyes narrow, then widen again in shock. He’d finally recognized Noctis.

No one else would have heard the tremor in Regis’s voice when he spoke, but Noctis knew his dad well enough to catch it. “Who are you?” Regis asked softly.

Slowly Noctis drew himself to his full height, taking a court-formal pose rather than the battle-ready stance he’d fallen into. It took a massive effort of will to keep his voice steady as he said, “I am His Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum, Chosen of the Crystal, the last king of Lucis.” He bowed, every one of Ignis's lessons about etiquette and poise and respect between reigning monarchs clamoring at the back of his mind.

Regis was silent for a long, long moment, his face unreadable as stone. Finally he said, “That is an unusual claim. Can you prove it?”

_ Unusual _ was such an understatement that Noctis almost laughed out loud, but he managed to swallow the impulse. He took a step forward and held out a hand, then hesitated. “The ‘Guard won’t jump me, will they?” 

Something softened in his father's expression - a miniscule change, but Noctis knew him. His dad recognized him despite the changes ten years and unimaginable heartbreak had wrought. Regis said, “They will not.”

Noctis nodded and swept his hand down, summoning the Armiger.

Despite Regis’s promise, most of the Crownsguard around them twitched, their hands tightening on their weapons, their feet sliding into ready stances. Clarus flinched, too, his hand half-raising as though about to call his shield. Noctis held still and waited, the glaives of the Lucii tinkling softly as they orbited him. He knew the Ring was shining on his finger, knew that as much as he could sense its power, his father could too. He felt the echo from the Ring his father wore - a second Ring, impossible yet here. 

His father stared at him, mouth open, more openly surprised than Noctis had ever seen him. Noct said softly, “Hi, Dad.” The words hurt and he had to close his eyes for a moment against a sudden surge of grief. He hadn't thought he would ever get to say those words again.

Regis said, “This is… impossible. How…?”

“I'm not sure,” Noctis admitted. He let the Armiger fade as he continued, “I was fighting off Ardyn’s magic, and…” He shook his head. “Something happened.”

“Ardyn,” Regis repeated. “Izunia, the Imperial chancellor? That was truly him just now?” 

“Yeah.” Noctis hesitated. The reminder of Ardyn's presence made his back stiffen, his fingers itch for his sword. “We should talk somewhere more private.”

“I agree,” Regis said. He signaled to the Crownsguard surrounding Noctis and his friends. “My Crownsguard will escort you to a suitable room. I’ll join you shortly; I need to settle things with my council.”

Noctis inclined his head. “Thank you.” The formality was strange, with his dad - Noctis had rarely bothered with any kind of court etiquette as the spoiled prince he’d once been. Now, he was painfully aware not only that he was a king in his own right rather than a prince… but also that this Regis wasn't _his._ His own dad had been dead for ten years, even if for Noctis it felt like little more than months. Whether they’d time-traveled somehow, or something even weirder was going on, he had to remember that the man in front of him wasn't his dad. Not really, no matter how much he wanted him to be.

Regis returned the nod, and the Crownsguard closed ranks around Noctis and his friends, leading them out of the throne room.


	2. A Meeting of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Noctis tells King Regis just how bad the future will be.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

The Crownsguard escort steered Noctis and his friends through the Citadel, down halls which minutes ago had been filled with rubble and now shone clean in the silvery moonlight streaming through the windows, in the pale glow of the electric lamps lining the walls. They finally stopped at one of the many conference rooms which dotted this level of the Citadel. Most of the ’Guards took up positions in the hall outside the room, but one followed them in, closed the door, and settled beside it. 

The room wasn't large, and the heavy table down the middle made it feel even smaller. Noctis motioned his friends over to the far end of the table. If they kept their voices low, the ‘Guard wouldn't be able to hear them. Probably. 

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Prompto hissed. “That was the _king!_ ” 

“Hey!” Noctis protested. “What about me?” But the attempt at a joke was mostly a reflex and they all knew it. Gladio huffed and folded his arms, while Prompto rolled his eyes and looked away. That, too, was a little sting in Noct’s heart. Before - before the Crystal, before he’d abandoned his friends for ten years he didn’t remember, before they’d spent a decade fighting in the dark - Prompto would have teased him back. But now Prompto’s teasing was as dark as the world to which Noctis had returned, and nearly as unnatural. Often, his jokes came a few beats too late, like he was forcing himself to do it; or worse, didn’t come at all. 

Like now. There was a moment of awkward silence before Ignis said, “I’d rather like to know what’s going on, as well. King Regis and his court appeared here?”

“Other way around,” Gladio said. “There’s moonlight out the windows, and no signs of decay.” 

“We went back in time,” Noctis said, tasting the impossibility of the words. “I think… I felt something, when I was fighting off Ardyn’s magic. I don’t know how it worked, but we went back in time.” 

“Do you think you could reverse it?” Ignis asked. “To return us to the present?”

Noctis hesitated, remembering the feel of the magic permeating the room as he and Ardyn battled. “I… I’m not sure. I might need his magic again. It wasn’t all mine.” 

Gladio swore under his breath, the kind of curse hunters and Glaives used that hadn’t ever been allowed in Noctis’s presence. Ignis tilted his head, somehow managing to give Gladio a look despite his eyes. Actually… Noctis blinked. Ignis had both eyes open, the silvery film over them all but invisible behind the reflective tint of his glasses. “Iggy?” Noct said quietly. “Can you—your eyes…”

Ignis actually turned his head to look at him. “Whether we’re in the past or not, I’d prefer not to broadcast my situation,” he said. “I trust you understand.”

“...yeah.” It was a valid point. Noctis wanted to trust his dad - or at least, trust this Regis, who wasn’t quite his dad no matter how badly he wished it - but until they knew for sure what had happened, doing so was a risk. Ignis clearly didn’t expect the people here to be on their side, and wanted to hide his weakness. 

Gladio said, “Best guess, we’re only a few years before the—before the peace treaty.” His eyes slid pointedly toward the Crownsguard standing near the door. “Regis had the knee brace and cane, and he didn’t start using both of ‘em until, what…”

“The summer before my last year of school, I think,” Noctis said. “Two or three years ago.” 

“Twelve or thirteen,” Ignis corrected absently, and Noctis winced. It was still too easy to forget the time he’d lost to the Crystal. Ignis added, “Still, that gives us something to work with.” 

“Does it matter?” Prompto asked. “I mean… what are we gonna _do_ in the past?”

“Good fu—uh, good question,” Gladio said, with a glance at Noctis.

Noct snorted. “Fucking, Gladio. I know the word _fucking_.” 

“Yeah, but your Shield’s supposed to be respectable,” Gladio retorted. “I got ten years of bad habits to undo. Better get started.” 

“When were you ever respectable?” Noctis teased. That, at least, brought a flicker of a smile to Gladio’s face - the most Noctis had managed to get from him in the days since he’d returned. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Gladio’s expression turned to stone once more. 

Prompto said, “So… could we stop it?”

“Stop what?” Noctis asked. 

“The, uh. The ten years of bad,” Prompto said. “If we’re in the past, doesn’t that mean we can change things?”

Noctis stared at him. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought that far yet, too stuck on the emotional shock of seeing his dad alive. But if Prompto was right… if they could _fix_ things…

“Doubt it,” Gladio said. “The grandfather paradox, right? We try to change something, we end up with a world where the shit we went through didn’t happen - so we don’t exist anymore to go back in time to change things.” 

“Maybe,” Noctis admitted. But something was already sparking deep within his chest, something he hadn’t felt since Insomnia fell. 

_Hope_.

“We have to try,” he said. 

“Noct—” Gladio protested. 

Noctis held up a hand to silence him. “I know it’s unlikely. It’s a pretty common storyline in some of the comics I used to read. But we have to _try_ , Gladio. If we have even the slightest chance of saving people - saving even _one_ person who died…”

“He’s right,” Ignis said. “Whatever happened to bring us here, whatever else it might mean, we could save lives.” More quietly, he added, “The Stars know we’ve too few survivors in our own time.” 

Gladio winced, then looked over at Prompto, one eyebrow raised. Prompto returned his gaze, some silent communication passing between them, and a surge of sudden jealousy hit Noctis so hard that for a second he couldn’t breathe. He had no idea where it had come from, why seeing them look to each other for confirmation—

Oh. 

Before, they would have both looked to Noctis. Before, Noct would have been involved in whatever silent conversation they were having. 

Now, he was ten years a stranger, and didn’t speak their language anymore. 

Noctis swallowed hard, forcing down his emotions until he could focus again. When he looked up, Gladio and Prompto were both watching him. “Noct?” Prompto said. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Noctis said, and tried a smile. “This is just… just weird, y’know?”

“Tell me about it,” Prompto agreed vehemently.

Before Noctis could say anything else, the conference room’s door opened. The Crownsguard beside it snapped to attention as Clarus entered the room, followed by Regis, with Cor Leonis bringing up the rear. Cor visibly started when he saw them, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping before he got his expression under control. “I see what you mean,” he said to Regis.

“Stars,” Gladio muttered under his breath at the same time, too quiet for Cor to hear across the room. “He really did get old, huh?”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, just as quietly.

Noctis didn’t say anything. This was still how he thought of Cor: a man in his prime, his face stern but mostly unlined, his cropped hair and beard a rich brown. The Cor he’d met briefly ...yesterday? this morning? how did you even begin to tell the passage of time when there was no sunrise or sunset? had been old and grey and worn from ten years of darkness. 

Regis made a subtle gesture to the Crownsguard at the door, who bowed crisply and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Regis, Clarus, and Cor took up seats at the other end of the table, the utter _normalcy_ of it jarring. It was almost like the last horrible few months and the decade Noctis couldn’t remember had never happened. He could almost pretend he was just a prince again, meeting with his dad and their respective advisors on some matter of state or the other. 

“So,” Regis said. “You are my son Noctis, yet my son is currently in his apartment several miles away under the watch of his Crownsguard.” He looked at Ignis, then Gladio. “Likewise, Ignis Scientia is four floors below us, in a meeting with representatives from a trade union; and Gladiolus Amicitia is training with the Crownsguard cadets in the courtyard.” 

_That_ was a creepy thought - that younger versions of themselves were out there somewhere, innocents who knew nothing of the fate rushing toward them. It was obvious in retrospect, but Noct’s mind still wanted to shy away from the idea. Thinking about the spoiled innocent child he’d been before the fall of Insomnia hurt in ways he didn’t want to think too much about. 

But if they were really in the past, he was going to have to deal with it. “This is going to sound crazy,” Noctis admitted, “but we think we’re from the future.” 

“The future,” Cor repeated skeptically. 

“Twelve or thirteen years,” Noctis said. “What year is it?” 

“Today is March seventh, ME seven fifty-four,” Regis said. 

“Approximately twelve years, four and a half months, then,” Ignis said. “Before we arrived here, the date was July twenty-third, seven sixty-six.” 

“This is still incredibly difficult to believe,” Regis said. “Yet I can’t deny the physical resemblance. And while there have been rumors of the Imperials developing cloning technology, it would be impossible to create clones older than the originals.” 

From the corner of his eye, Noctis saw Prompto shift uneasily in his seat. His left hand picked worriedly at the cuff of his right sleeve, beneath which hid the tattoo that marked him as one of the Niffs’ clones. Then to Noctis’s surprise, Gladio reached out and, without looking away from Regis, Clarus, and Cor, casually dropped his hand over Prompto’s, nudging his fingers away and gripping his wrist around the tattoo. Prompto twitched again but then relaxed slightly, and once more Noct felt that surge of jealousy, that his friends had… whatever that was, which didn’t involve him.

But his dad was still watching him, clearly expecting an answer, so Noctis forced down the emotions and said, “We’re not clones. I guess we could do the ‘tell me something only you would know’ thing, if you want.” 

Regis shook his head. “You already demonstrated possession of the glaives of the Lucii. And... you’re wearing the Ring.” 

There was a heaviness to his voice, an unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that Noctis would only wear the Ring of the Lucii after Regis had died. Clarus’s expression turned even stonier, and Cor looked away, frowning. That had to be painful for them to hear: that the king they served would die within the next twelve years. It would be even worse when they learned how soon it would really happen.

Regis glanced between his two companions, then sighed. “Perhaps you ought to start at the beginning. It’s obvious that a great deal has happened to you.” His eyes flicked over Noctis and his retinue again, lingering for a moment on Prompto. Noctis tried to remember how well his dad had known Prompto twelve years ago. Probably not well at all - their senior year hadn’t been one of Noct’s best, shadowed as it was by Regis’s failing health and the knowledge that as soon as Noctis graduated, he’d be expected to step up as Crown Prince in preparation for his dad’s death. Noctis had treasured his time with Prompto as an escape from all that, and had taken pains to keep those two parts of his life as separate as possible. Still, Regis clearly recognized Prompto enough to be curious how a common-born high school friend had come to be part of Noctis’s inner circle. 

Likewise, Clarus was studying Gladio, probably trying to recognize his laid-back, cheerful twenty-year-old son in the grim, stoic mountain of a man Gladio was now. And Cor was watching Ignis, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Ignis had been doing a passable job of pretending to not be blind, but Cor was both shrewd and observant. It _probably_ wouldn’t matter if Regis, Clarus, and Cor knew the truth about Ignis’s sight, but Noctis still wanted to respect his advisor’s concerns. So he cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. “The beginning,” he said. “I guess the important part started about ten, ten and a half years ago. About two years out for you.” 

He laid out the basics of the Niffs’ ploy with their giant daemon and the sham of a peace treaty they’d offered. The pretense of an arranged marriage between Noctis and Luna, and Regis’s decision to send Noctis out of Insomnia ahead of the invasion. He had to fight to keep his voice from wavering as he described that part, unspoken questions nearly choking him. In the days and weeks after his dad died, all Noctis had wanted to know was _why_ \- why Regis had sacrificed all of Lucis for him, why he hadn’t told him anything about the destiny that awaited him. But this Regis hadn’t made that choice yet, wouldn’t be able to give him an answer. So he swallowed back the questions and the grief, and forced himself to keep going. 

He only got as far as the Niffs’ attack and the betrayal by the Kingsglaive when Regis held up a hand to stop him. “The Kingsglaive?” he demanded. “ _My_ Kingsglaive? Traitors?” 

Noctis nodded, but looked over to Ignis to explain; he knew Ignis had followed the reports more closely immediately after the fall of Insomnia. Ignis said, “According to those few who survived, the Glaive as a whole were - are, I suppose, at the moment - unhappy with the status quo. Their homelands sacrificed to the Imperials while Insomnia hides behind its Wall. They were… easy to convince, when General Glauca made his move.”

“Why would the Glaive follow an Imperial general?” Cor demanded. “I understand their frustration; it’s nothing new. But _Glauca?”_

Right. They didn’t know. Ignis turned his head, his blind eyes very nearly meeting Noctis’s in a clear question. Noctis clenched his fists on the table, the memory of the last time he’d seen his dad, the last words he’d said, burning in his chest. The Crystal had shown him how his father had died. “Because Glauca is Titus Drautos.”

Regis jerked like he’d been slapped. Cor’s eyes widened, and Clarus drew a sharp breath. “ _What?!_ ” 

“He infiltrated the Kingsglaive years ago,” Ignis said. “He’s been planning his betrayal for a very long time.”

Regis said, very quietly, “How is that possible?” 

“We don’t know the details,” Ignis admitted. “But Libertus Ostium and another Glaive who was there confirmed both his identity and his treachery.” 

Regis traded a look with Clarus, who stood up from the table and retreated to a corner of the room, phone to his ear, talking quietly. To Noctis, Regis said, “The Kingsglaive is deployed to western Cleigne at the moment, but we expect them back in the next few days. We’ll speak with Drautos.” 

“That all?” Gladio asked. His voice was mild, but his eyes were hard, and Noctis remembered that Glauca had been the one to kill Clarus, too. 

“That depends on what he says,” Regis said, equally mild, though Noctis knew his father well enough to know he wasn’t fooled by Gladio’s apparent calm. “In the meantime, we’d do best to know what else to expect. Please, Noctis, continue.” 

“Right.” Noctis took a deep breath, marshalling his thoughts. Clarus returned to the table as Noct picked up the story: the four of them learning of the fall of Insomnia from a hotel room in Galdin Quay. The weeks of wandering Lucis seeking royal tombs, forging covenants, and preparing to travel to Altissia. The covenant with Leviathan, Luna’s death at Ardyn’s hands. The trip to Gralea, the covenant with Shiva - though Noctis left out what had happened to Prompto on the train. What he’d _done_ to Prompto. Gladio hadn’t let go of Prompto’s wrist the whole time, and both of them seemed to relax when Noctis didn’t bring any of it up. 

The fight through Gralea and into Zegnautus. Reaching the Crystal, being sucked inside. Here Noctis stopped talking and glanced at Ignis, who took up the thread of the narrative smoothly, summing up ten years of darkness and ruin in a few concise sentences. Finally Ignis said, “The Crystal returned Noctis to us five days ago. We made our way here to face Ardyn, but when we confronted him…” Ignis spread his hands, indicating their current predicament. 

Regis didn't say anything right away, silence falling over the room like a shroud. Clarus wore a stony expression identical to Gladio's, while Cor shook his head over and over, as though trying to refute what he’d heard. Noctis waited, giving them time to digest everything. Hell, _Noct_ still had trouble believing it all, and he’d lived it. His dad would need a few minutes, at least. 

Finally Regis said carefully, “This is… quite a lot to take in. The four of you must be exhausted. Perhaps it would be best if we gave you a place to rest, clean up if you’d like, while I discuss this with my advisors.”

Noctis tensed, aware of Ignis likewise going still beside him. Regis’s voice was formal, almost stiff - as though he doubted them. Or didn't trust them, though Noctis could hardly blame him for it. At least Regis was offering some level of hospitality despite the mistrust. Being confined to a suite of rooms was better than being thrown in the old dungeons under the Citadel, unused in modern times but kept prepared just in case. Noctis inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We’d appreciate that.”


	3. Brothers Grieving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Noctis and his friends get a night to rest.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Cor Leonis personally escorted Noctis and his companions to a large guest apartment on the upper floor of one of the Citadel’s towers. “I know this is…” he started, then trailed off with a sigh. “ _ Unusual _ doesn't begin to cover it. I hope you understand, I have to ask that for your own safety—”

“We’ll stay here,” Noctis promised. He couldn't remember ever seeing the Marshal so rattled as to be at a loss for words, not even after Insomnia fell. But then, Cor had had more than a day to come to terms with that before he’d joined them in Leide. It hadn’t even been two hours since Noctis and his retinue arrived in the throne room.

Cor nodded his thanks. “Someone will be by as soon as the king has decided what to do next,” he said. 

“We await his word,” Ignis said from behind Noctis. His tone was polite, yet managed to convey that they wouldn't wait forever. Cor’s expression tightened, but he just nodded again and left, closing the suite’s front door behind him.

With four bedrooms each with an en suite, a generous kitchen, a dining nook, and a cozy sitting room complete with fireplace, the suite was designed for extended stays by visiting dignitaries. It hadn’t been used much during Noctis’s childhood thanks to the ongoing war with Niflheim, and bore signs of a last-second pass by the cleaning staff. But the bathrooms all had luxury showers with hot water, and were well-stocked with expensive soaps, razors, towels, and other personal care items. The closets held elegant silk bathrobes, nightclothes, and slippers in a variety of sizes, and the beds were covered with thick blankets and plush pillows. 

Noctis leaned in the doorway of one of the bedrooms, listening to his friends explore the suite. Ignis was somewhat familiar with the guest suites as he’d accompanied Noctis on his childhood explorations of the Citadel, but Gladio had never had a reason to come up here, and Prompto had hardly come to the Citadel at all. None of them had seen extravagance like this in a decade. His brief stay at Hammerhead had shown Noctis that even hot water for showers had been a luxury during the decade of darkness - if you wanted hot water, you had to light a fire and heat it up in a pot. Precious electricity had been reserved for the even more precious floodlamps that were all that kept the daemons at bay.

Once his friends were settled into the bedrooms and taking showers, Noctis allowed himself to shut himself into his own bedroom. He badly wanted a shower himself; the last halfway decent one he remembered had been back in Altissia, before the disastrous covenant with Leviathan. Months ago according to his memory; years in real time. But he found himself oddly reluctant to strip out of his royal raiment.

Noctis hadn’t gotten a good look at himself since waking on Angelgard, just glimpses in Talcott’s rearview mirror, in the reflections glinting off the windows of the hunters’ trucks around Hammerhead. The tiny mirror in the equally tiny bathroom in the caravan had been easy to avoid. Now, looking at himself directly for the first time, his reflection was a stranger: an aged and worn man, his formerly smooth chin covered in a scraggly beard, his once meticulously groomed eyebrows grown thick and wild, and deep lines etched around eyes sunken with grief. His hair hung in uneven clumps around his temples, and his cheeks had hollowed out. The face that looked back at him didn’t feel real, didn’t feel like  _ Noctis _ anymore. His body had aged a decade which his mind didn’t remember, and he couldn’t reconcile the two. 

Even his clothes were wrong, elaborate Lucian finery that was nothing like the casual shirts and waders he preferred. He felt like he had when he was a child playing dress-up with his father’s suits, too small and unprepared for the responsibility they represented. Hard to believe these clothes had been designed to be his wedding suit, and now would be his funeral shroud instead.

Except… he was in the past, and Ardyn was in the wind. A few hours ago, Noctis had been ready to die - to give his life to restore light to the dying planet. But he couldn't anymore, not until they found Ardyn and returned to their own time. How long would that take? How long would Noctis have to endure the anticipation of a brutally violent death at the hands of his own ancestors? He’d resigned himself to his fate in the Crystal, but out here, surrounded by his friends, seeing their faces once more…

Noctis took a deep breath, his fists clenching on the countertop. His friends, who’d survived ten years of darkness with nothing more than faith in Noctis’s return to sustain them. His friends who'd suffered so much to get him this far. He couldn't let them down. He _wouldn't_. He would find Ardyn and get them back to their own time and destroy the Starscourge, no matter what it took.

That determination was enough to goad him into moving. They didn’t know where Ardyn was, so the wisest thing to do was rest and recover from the battle through the ruins of Insomnia. Noctis needed to be ready when they did find him again. He showered, taking the time to shave the scruffy beard and pluck down the bushy eyebrows. When he was finished, his reflection was slightly less unfamiliar, and he pulled on a set of silk pajamas and a bathrobe and went out into the suite’s main room to join his friends. 

Despite how long Noctis had taken in the shower, only Ignis and Gladio were waiting when he got to the sitting area. Ignis sat primly at one end of the couch, dressed like Noctis in pajamas with a robe wrapped tightly over top, his damp hair slicked back and his glasses missing. In the room’s warm lighting, the scars on his face were less stark, though he wasn't bothering to keep his eyes open anymore. Gladio sprawled across the rest of the couch; true to form he wore only pajama pants and an open robe, though to be fair the robe probably wouldn't have closed around his barrel chest. The old scar across his ribs from his fight with Gilgamesh had faded, but several newer scars marred the skin around it. 

“Well, well,” Gladio said. “Look at you. Didn’t like the fisherman king aesthetic?” 

“Shut up,” Noctis said. 

The corners of Gladio’s eyes crinkled and his mouth curled in a faint smirk, the closest he seemed to get to laughing anymore. Ignis said, “Come now, Gladio, it can’t have been that bad.” 

“Oh, it was that bad,” Prompto said, emerging from one of the bedrooms.

“Says the guy with the art student goatee,” Noctis retorted.

Gladio’s smirk widened, while Prompto leaned back with an exaggerated horrified expression. “Rude! My goatee is _sophisticated!_ ”

“It’s something, all right,” Noctis said, dropping into an armchair with a grin. 

“ _You’re_ something,” Prompto shot back, and for a second it was almost like old times, the four of them joking around together. But the next second it was gone again, Gladio’s smile fading too quickly and Prompto’s eyes darting away from Noctis. An awkward silence fell over them, broken a beat too late by Prompto asking, “So… what do we do with our clothes? Does this place have a washing machine?”

“Drop ‘em in the laundry chute in the bathroom,” Noctis said. “The cleaning staff will take care of them.”

Prompto gave him an odd look. “The cleaning staff?”

“What?” Noctis asked. “We're here, we might as well take advantage of it.”

“We're just gonna give away our clothes?” Prompto asked uneasily. “What if Ardyn comes back?”

“It's highly unlikely,” Ignis said. “Even if he's capable of sneaking past the guards - and I’d not put it past him - he still must face the full power of the Crystal’s defensive magic within the Citadel itself.”

“I don’t like giving up my armor on the basis of ‘unlikely’,” Prompto said. 

“C’mon,” Noct said, trying to sound reassuring. “We can kick his ass no matter what we’re wearing.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Gladio added. “Relax, kid.” 

Prompto hesitated a moment longer, but Gladio gave an encouraging little jerk of his head toward the bedroom door, and finally Prompto turned and disappeared inside. When he returned a minute later, he flopped onto the couch between Gladio and Ignis, leaning against Gladio’s shoulder and absently picking at his barcode until Gladio wrapped a hand around his wrist again. 

Noctis curled deeper into his armchair, fighting against the urge to go pile on the couch with them. Before, he would have. Before, they’d shared a tent that claimed it slept four but didn’t account for someone Gladio’s size or Prompto’s tendency to sprawl. Before, Noctis and Prompto had spent hours shoulder to shoulder on the couch in Noctis’s apartment, playing video games. He and Gladio would get into playful wrestling matches on the training mat that always resulted in the two of them sprawled in a heap. He and Ignis would sit together at the table to review homework or meeting notes. 

Now the three of them were the ones piled together, and Noctis was a king alone in his chair. 

“Noct?” Prompto asked, and Noctis blinked, jolted out of his gloomy thoughts. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Noctis said quickly. He didn’t want them to know how much it hurt to not be a part of them anymore, wasn’t sure how to explain it even if he did. He faked a yawn and added, “Just tired.” 

“It’s been a long day,” Ignis agreed. “What time is it now?” 

Gladio glanced at the clock set over the fireplace. “Eight-thirty PM.” 

“Feels later,” Prompto said, with a yawn of his own. “Maybe we should—”

A knock on the suite’s front door interrupted him and sent Gladio to his feet and half in front of Noctis. A woman’s voice called through the door, “Dinner service. May I come in?”

“I suppose food wouldn’t be amiss,” Ignis said quietly. He’d shot to his feet only half a beat behind Gladio, and didn’t relax despite his own words. “Noct?” 

“Sure,” Noctis agreed. 

Ignis called toward the door, “Yes, please come in.” 

Noct didn’t miss that Ignis and Gladio both stayed protectively between him and the door, nor that Prompto had shifted on the couch to give himself a clear line of fire around them, as it opened to admit a middle-aged woman in a Citadel staff uniform. She pushed a large cart laden with covered dishes into the suite, and set them out on the table in the little dining nook with the briskness of long practice. When she was finished, she turned to Noctis and bowed neatly. “His Majesty the King hopes you enjoy the food. If you have need of anything, please ask.” 

“Of course,” Noctis said politely. “Thank you.” 

The woman bowed again and left. She wasn’t quite as subtle as Cor had been; they all heard the click of a lock turning over as she shut the door.

Ignis tilted his head toward Gladio, who was studying the dinner spread with a grim look. Noctis sighed, recognizing that expression from both of them. “You can taste-test if you want,” he said dryly. “But I’m pretty sure my dad isn’t going to poison us.” 

That got a rueful smile from Ignis. “Until we’re more sure of our position, I’d prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “You were the one who said we shouldn’t have to worry here.” 

“About Ardyn, and the possibility of a battle inside the Citadel,” Ignis corrected. “The rest of this situation…” He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s overcautious of me, but after the Belil incident—”

“Oh,” Prompto said. “Yeah, fair.” He rolled to his feet and ducked past Ignis to the table. “I’ll taste it. I’m smallest, any poison’ll hit me first.” 

Noctis frowned. He didn’t know what the Belil incident had been, but he didn’t like seeing his friends so paranoid. “Prompto—”

Prompto glanced over his shoulder at Noctis and grinned. “What? You said we could, and that it’s probably fine. And this way I get to try everything before Gladio eats it all.” 

“Har har.” Gladio finally broke from his protective stance in front of Noctis to reach over and give Prompto a shove.

Prompto danced away with practiced ease, a dinner roll in one hand and a fork with a slice of what looked like garula roast in the other. He popped both in his mouth, chewed—then his eyes fell closed and he swayed, moaning low in his chest. 

Noctis was on his feet in an instant, but Gladio and Ignis beat him to Prompto’s side. “Hey, kid—” Gladio said, worried, and caught him by the arms.

Prompto opened his eyes and blinked in obvious surprise at them, then winced and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t poison or anything. This is just…” He glanced over the steaming plates of food, his voice going wistful. “I haven’t had food this good in years.” 

Gladio snorted. “I’m demoting you from royal taste tester.” 

“Good,” Noctis interjected. “I don’t need a taste tester. Let’s just eat, okay? Before it all goes cold.”

“I suppose we are being rather paranoid,” Ignis admitted. 

“Yes, you are,” Noctis said. It came out sharper than he’d meant and he saw Prompto flinch, but made himself ignore it. Whatever his friends had gone through in the last ten years, Noctis wanted this… this respite, this whatever-it-was in the past, to not be tainted by it. Seeing them like this only emphasized what he was going to lose as soon as they returned to the present, and he wanted these last few stolen memories to be good ones. 

“Well, let’s eat then,” Gladio said. Prompto nudged Ignis toward one of the chairs, while Gladio rounded the table to take the seat opposite Noctis. They dug in, the strained silence soon broken by delighted exclamations about the food. Prompto was right; it was delicious. More than that, it tasted like home, a familiarity Noctis had thought he’d never have again after Insomnia fell. 

They cleared the entire spread, despite how much food it was. Noctis watched his friends with a mix of amusement and sorrow - as Prompto had said, they hadn't had food like this in a long time. Even Ignis’s cooking in the Hammerhead caravan a few nights ago hadn't been close; even he could only do so much with the limited, sickly ingredients that were all he had after a decade without sunlight. Soft bread, fresh fruit and vegetables, rich meats… they'd had none of it for years. 

When the plates were empty, Gladio leaned back and stretched, his spine cracking. “Time to sleep, after a meal like that.”

Prompto yawned. “Sounds good to me.”

Ignis turned his head toward Noctis, a question in the tilt of his eyebrows. Noctis glanced at the clock and sighed. “It's almost ten. My dad probably won't have anything for us tonight.”

“First thing in the morning, then,” Ignis said. 

“He’d better,” Gladio said grimly. “We can’t stay locked up here forever.”

“Yeah.” Noctis stood up, then hesitated. “You guys are… you're fine in those rooms?”

“Hell yeah,” Prompto said. “They have real mattresses on the beds! And _pillows!_ ”

Noctis couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, even though it made his heart ache. He’d caught a glimpse of the tiny nook that had been Prompto’s bedroom for much of the last decade, just a tattered blanket on a ragged, sagging cot shoved behind a rusty old truck shell in a corner of the Hammerhead garage. Gladio had commented, in the caravan, that he hadn't slept indoors for longer than he could remember. And Ignis had been sharing a tiny apartment in Lestallum with four other men, refugees from Accordo with nowhere else to go. Noctis couldn't blame any of them for wanting to take advantage of the luxurious beds and private rooms, even if Noctis himself couldn't stand the thought of being alone again. So he made himself say goodnight as though nothing was wrong, and retreated to his own room as his friends disappeared into their separate bedrooms.

Dropping his bathrobe on the floor, Noctis turned off the light and climbed into the bed. The sheets smelled like the Citadel's industrial cleaner and, very faintly, of dust, but the bed was soft and the blankets feather-light and cozy. The last time he’d had comfort like this had been in his own apartment, the one he’d packed up the day before leaving Insomnia. Even the expensive suite in the hotel in Altissia hadn't been this nice. He should have fallen asleep immediately.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the broken throne of Lucis, looming silent in the darkness of a ruined world. Awaiting him. Awaiting his death. 

Noctis shoved the blankets off and rolled to his feet, gritting his teeth against a scream of frustration. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, no matter how much he knew he needed it. His remaining lifespan could be measured in hours; he didn’t want to waste any of it sleeping. 

His bare feet were all but silent on the plush carpet as he crossed to the enormous window which dominated one wall of the room. Thick blackout curtains covered it; he pushed them aside to reveal the brilliant white lights of Insomnia at night. The Citadel’s spotlights gleamed off nearby buildings, billboards flashed and glittered on rooftops, and far below, cars’ headlights traced bright lines along the streets. Artificial light, all of it, but still brighter than anything he’d seen since he escaped the Crystal. 

_ Not as bright as sunlight, though _ , he thought. As a child, he’d loved the view out the windows of the Citadel, the city rosy with dawn’s light or golden at sunset. The silver-white artificial lights had their own beauty, true, but daylight was where Insomnia really shone. His friends were counting on him to bring back that daylight, to let his city - his country, his _world_ \- bask once again in the warmth of the sun. 

All it would take was Noctis’s death.

He shuddered and turned away from the window. One death. That was all. A small sacrifice, really: the life of one spoiled, weak, useless prince in exchange for the lives of everyone and everything else in the world. It wasn’t even a choice. There was no other answer. This was quite literally what he’d been born for. He could do it. He _would_ do it.

It just… hurt. 

A soft knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts; before he could say anything the door opened and Ignis stepped inside. “Noct? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Noctis said, too quickly. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“So I gathered,” Ignis said dryly. “I heard you moving about.”

“Sorry.” Noct sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Didn’t mean to keep you up. Go back to sleep, I’ll be quieter.” 

Ignis just stood there a moment, his head tilted slightly. Then he closed the door and crossed the dark room unerringly to Noctis’s side. Taking Noct by the arm, he led him back to the bed, his steps as sure as though he could see perfectly well. But then, navigating a suite of elegant rooms was nothing compared to fighting daemons blind, and Noctis couldn’t help but admire how skilled Ignis had grown. Not that he hadn’t already been incredibly competent, but this was a whole new level. 

Ignis pushed Noctis gently to sit on the edge of the bed, then sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. His skin was warm through the thin silk of their pajamas, his presence so familiar and comforting that Noct’s chest ached with it. They sat in silence for a minute or two, just leaning on each other, and Noctis closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of companionship. His time in the Crystal hadn’t felt like ten years, but it had still been far too long alone. 

Finally Ignis said softly, “What is it?” 

Noct shook his head. “Nothing. Really. Just… thinking.” 

Silence for a moment, then Ignis said, “About your…” His breath hitched. “About your destiny.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis whispered. They both knew Ignis had almost said _death_. “I was… I was okay with it. I made my peace, like I said, no matter how much it hurt to see you guys again.” He swallowed hard, hunching in on himself. He shouldn’t be saying this, but he couldn’t keep it inside anymore. “I could handle it because I knew it would be over soon.” 

Ignis made a low, pained noise, and wrapped an arm around Noctis’s shoulders, pulling him against his side. Noctis leaned in close, wanting nothing more than to bury his face against Ignis’s chest, to cling to him like he was a child having a nightmare. He hadn’t meant to say more, but the words came spilling out of him anyway: “But now we’re here, and I—I don’t know—I see you and I—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I mean… I will, I know I have to and I _will,_ I’ll do it, I just…” 

Ignis was shaking against him, his fingers digging into Noct’s shoulder with painful intensity. Noctis shuddered, and before he could stop himself he blurted, “Ignis, I... I don’t want to die.”

It was blasphemy to defy the Draconian’s will - but more than that it was a betrayal. Of everyone who’d died to get him this far, of everyone who’d held on for a decade in the hope that Noctis would return, but mostly a betrayal of his friends, who’d sacrificed everything for him. But now that he’d said it he couldn’t stop, and he whispered again, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.” 

A raw cry tore out of Ignis’s throat; he hugged Noctis tight and Noct gave in to the urge to curl into his chest and sob. _I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die._ Unable to stop, unable to do anything except cling to Ignis and whisper those traitorous words over and over. 

He didn’t hear the bedroom door open but suddenly another pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, thin and whipcord-strong: Prompto, burying his face against the back of Noct’s neck, his cheeks wet with tears. The bed rocked as Gladio climbed around behind them, then simply gathered all three of them in his arms. He, too, was shaking, tears dripping into Noctis’s hair. It was nothing like the silent, stoic mourning they’d done on the hill above Insomnia at their last camp, each of them trying to be strong for the others. This was a raw grief that felt far too big for any of them to hold, even as they clung to each other. 

But there in the dark, surrounded by his friends - his brothers - grieving for the years they’d already lost and everything they were about to lose... for the first time since he’d left them behind in Zegnautus to go to the Crystal and his destiny, Noctis didn’t feel alone.


	4. Indecision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, when the sun is shining and Cor isn't expecting a king.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Noctis woke up to Prompto’s breath brushing his neck, Ignis's arm tucked under his head like a pillow, and Gladio's hand resting over his heart. Sunlight, warm on his skin, spilled across the bed from the window whose curtain he’d forgotten to draw last night. He didn't remember falling asleep, just the comfort of his friends around him and the relief their shared mourning had brought. His cheeks were tight with the salt of tears, and his throat ached, but he still felt better than he had in a long time. 

Noctis let himself lay there a while, enjoying the quiet and his friends’ presence. They were all still asleep - a rare reversal of their normal routine of Noctis being the last to reluctantly awaken. But he’d slept for ten years inside the Crystal, while they'd struggled and fought in darkness, and he didn't blame them for taking the chance to rest. Ignis’s mouth hung open and he was snoring softly, and Noctis couldn't help but smile - at twenty-two, Ignis had been hideously offended by the mere suggestion that he didn't sleep in perfect elegance. Gladio was a mountain of muscle curled around Prompto’s back, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. And Prompto… 

Noctis frowned. Prompto was breathing in short stuttering bursts, and Noctis could feel his heart racing where his chest pressed against Noct’s ribs. A nightmare, though a far more silent one than usual. He’d seen Prompto have nightmares before, during their months on the road, or when they’d slept over at each other’s places back in Insomnia, but Prompto had always been loud and panicked enough to wake up even Noctis. Now, it was almost as though he was trying to hide, to stay silent and still even in sleep. 

Noctis extracted an arm from under Ignis and nudged Prompto's shoulder. “Shh,” he murmured. Prompto flinched, but didn't calm, so Noctis started rubbing his back the way he’d done when they were teenagers. He was trying to soothe him gently, to nudge him out of the nightmare and back into deep sleep without fully waking him, but Prompto's breath hitched and his eyes flew open. He jerked and struggled, trapped by Gladio's arm draped over his waist, and his gun appeared in his free hand in a flash of blue.

Noctis swore under his breath and yanked the gun back into the armory. “Prompto!” he hissed. “It's me, calm down. You're fine, it's just us here.”

Prompto looked between Noctis and the hand that had held the gun, his blue eyes way too wide. He still hadn’t made a sound, and there was a deadly set to his jaw that had Noctis bracing himself to dematerialize another gun. For a long second, they stared at each other in silence. Noctis held as still as he could, and finally awareness crept into Prompto’s eyes. His breathing slowed, steadied, and his shoulders relaxed. “...Oh,” he whispered. “Hey, Noct.”

“Hey,” Noctis answered. “You okay?”

Prompto nodded, but looked away, elbowing Gladio's arm aside and sitting up. “I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry if I—”

He broke off, going absolutely rigid, his eyes huge again as he stared at the window. Noctis followed his gaze, frowning. The view of the city was nice, sure, the buildings gleaming in the brilliant late-morning sunlight, but it wasn’t as though Prompto’d never seen a view like— 

Sunlight. Noctis realized what it was, what it meant, even as Prompto burst into motion, clambering over Noctis and Ignis and all but falling to the floor. Ignis snorted and stirred, and Gladio groaned, “What the hell?”

Prompto ignored them. He staggered up to the window, then his legs apparently gave out because he sat down hard. “The sun,” he whispered. 

“Wha…?” Gladio muttered. He sat up, rubbing sleepily at his eyes - then his hand dropped to his side as he realized what Prompto was looking at. 

Ignis, too, was sitting up, easing his arm out from under Noctis’s head. Around a yawn he said, “What is it, Prompto?” 

“The _sun_ ,” Prompto whispered again. 

Ignis’s head whipped around, his good eye opening wide as though he was trying to see. “Oh,” he said, very softly. Then he flinched, one hand reaching out unsteadily to press against Noct’s chest, as if to check that his heart was still beating. Noctis gripped his wrist in reassurance; Ignis’s lips twitched as though he knew Noctis knew what he was afraid of. Then he slipped off the bed to his feet, his normally graceful movement choppy, and crossed the room to the window. He nearly stepped on Prompto, who hadn’t moved from where he’d collapsed, but Prompto didn’t seem to notice. Slowly Ignis lifted his hands and pressed them against the glass. His shoulders hitched and he bowed his head, resting his forehead against the window.

Noctis checked on Gladio, who still sat motionless on the bed, his arms hanging limp by his sides, his mouth open in wonder, his eyes suspiciously damp. Noctis nudged him gently; Gladio swayed but didn’t otherwise respond, transfixed by the light pouring through the window. Noct gripped his shoulder, wanting to say something but not sure what. This was his friends’ first glimpse of the sun in a decade - Noctis couldn’t begin to imagine what it meant to them. 

Finally Gladio glanced at him long enough to give him a watery smile. Noctis smiled back and squeezed his shoulder, then let go and clambered off the bed. He crouched on the floor between Prompto and Ignis, his thirty-year-old knees creaking in a way they never had at twenty. This close, he could see fresh tears running down Prompto’s cheeks. Prompto didn’t look away from the window, but he leaned against Noctis’s side. After a moment, he said hoarsely, “I know this… this isn’t our sun. It’s not _yours_. But… I’m really glad we get to see it with you.” 

Noctis didn’t know what to say to that, either. He hadn’t expected to see another sunrise with his friends, but at least when he banished the Starscourge and brought back the sunlight in their own time, he wouldn’t be the one who had to face the light knowing what it had cost. So he said only, “Yeah, me too.” Then he sat down beside Prompto and tipped his face up toward the sun, and let himself bask in the dawn. 

* * *

Several hours later, Noctis and his friends had showered, dressed, and eaten the entirety of the rich brunch delivered by the same Citadel staffer who’d brought last night’s dinner. She had also brought their clothes, cleaned and mended, and the guys were back in their Kingsglaive uniforms. Noctis had dressed in his formal wear as well, though he hadn’t bothered with the ornate outer mantle or most of the golden adornments. If and when Regis was ready to meet with him again, he’d dress up fully, but for now, it was nice to not have a bunch of ornaments jangling every time he moved. 

Not that he was doing much moving. The suite which had felt spacious and grand last night now felt cramped after he’d paced its length a hundred times, waiting in vain for Regis to summon them. Even his friends, who’d spent a large part of the day merely basking in the sunlight, were clearly growing restless and bored. Prompto’s hands and heels drummed out an absent, muffled rhythm on the carpet where he sprawled in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the sitting area. Gladio prowled around the suite like a caged coeurl; Noctis wouldn’t have been surprised if he sprouted electric whiskers. Even Ignis, sitting cross-legged and prim on the couch, was tapping a finger on his knee. 

It was Prompto who spoke first, tilting his head back to look upside-down at Noctis where he sat in an armchair. “So… when d’you think King Regis is going to talk to us again?” 

“Dunno,” Noctis answered. He was trying to sound casual, but didn’t quite manage to keep his frustration out of his voice. “He said he needed to talk to his councilors, but I have no idea what he’s doing that’s taking this long.” It was like being a teenager again, never getting to see his dad because of this meeting running late or that function being rescheduled. 

“It’s not every day future versions of your son and his companions fall into your lap,” Ignis pointed out in his let’s-be-reasonable tone. “I’m sure His Majesty is—” He cut himself off abruptly, head turning toward the door.

A moment later there was a knock, and Cor Leonis’s voice called, “Your Highness, it’s Cor. I’m coming in.” 

“ _Majesty_ ,” Gladio muttered under his breath as he moved to stand at Noct’s shoulder. 

Noctis elbowed him in the hip. “Leave it,” he muttered back. Technically he was the king and therefore not _highness_ anymore, but he’d grown up with _his majesty the king_ meaning _dad_ , and still wasn’t quite comfortable claiming it for himself. 

The door opened and Cor stepped in. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time they’d seen him; he was wearing the same clothes and had deep circles under his eyes. He sketched a quick bow more appropriate for a prince than a king. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. 

“Is the king ready to speak with us?” Noctis asked, making his voice level. At least those months wandering around back-country Lucis pretending to be hunters hadn’t made him forget his court training. Until he knew better what Regis planned to do, Noctis wanted to honor the various rules of hospitality and diplomacy that governed meetings between monarchs, as much to remind _himself_ that he was in fact a king in his own right, as to remind Cor and therefore his father. 

Cor shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Prompto demanded. He, like Ignis, had stood up when Cor came in, and now stood at Noctis’s other shoulder. Noctis tilted his head enough to give Prompto a sharp look out of the corner of his eye; Prompto frowned and subsided sullenly. 

Noctis looked back at Cor and raised an eyebrow. By etiquette rules, Prompto had spoken out of turn, but he’d only said what Noctis had been thinking anyway. Cor sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I know you’re frustrated,” he said. “But if everything you said yesterday is true… It means the Niflheim Emperor’s right-hand man is running loose in the Crown City, and his most trusted general is leading the Kingsglaive in a battle against Imperial forces. The king wants to ensure the security of Insomnia and its people first.” 

Noctis couldn’t help but notice Cor had said _Insomnia_ and not _Lucis_. He’d never noticed before - as a kid, Insomnia _had_ been all of Lucis as far as he was concerned - but now, having met so many people living outside the Wall, knowing the Glaives’ grievances, he couldn’t help but wonder whether this was what had led so many of the Glaives to turn traitor. 

But bringing that up now wouldn’t help anything, so all he said was, “I see. Please tell His Majesty that if he’s willing, we’re happy to deal with one of those problems for him.” 

Cor shook his head. “We don’t want the city to become a battleground.”

“You may not have a choice,” Noctis said, his voice coming out sharp, and he took a breath to rein himself in. “Ardyn enjoys causing havoc.”

“That may be true, but we still want to do everything we can to minimize the collateral damage,” Cor said. “Please, Noctis. Be patient. The king will speak to you as soon as he can.” 

“Of course,” Noctis said. Despite his best efforts, his frustration bled into his voice as he added coldly, “Will that be all, Marshal?” 

Cor actually seemed taken aback. “Yes, Your—Your Majesty.” He bowed, more deeply this time, then hurried out of the room.

Noctis frowned at the locked door. “Did Cor just… run away from me?” 

“Can’t blame him,” Prompto said. “You were pretty scary.” 

“I was?” 

“The Marshal in this time is accustomed to a teenage prince with an allergy to formalities,” Ignis pointed out dryly. “You sounded like a king.” 

“I did?” It was what he’d been trying to do, but Noctis hadn’t felt like it. Mostly he’d felt frustrated and worried.

Gladio’s eyes crinkled in something that was almost a laugh. “Not like that you don’t.” 

Noctis elbowed him again. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Anytime,” Gladio shot back, but then his expression darkened and he turned away, stomping over to the window to stare out at the city. “Can’t believe Regis is making us wait like this. We got out there, we could find Ardyn and get out of his hair.” 

“ _King_ Regis,” Ignis corrected pointedly.

Gladio huffed and muttered something under his breath. Noctis narrowed his eyes. “Say that again, Gladio?” 

Gladio turned and met Noct’s gaze levelly. “King Do-Nothing,” he said out loud, flat and angry. “It’s what a lot of the hunters call him. Can’t blame ‘em, either.” 

Noctis shot to his feet. “My dad isn’t—”

“Noct!” Ignis grabbed him by the arm. “It’s nothing. Just hunters grousing.” 

But Gladio was still watching him with that flat stare, and Prompto had looked away, a familiar set to his jaw that meant he was biting his tongue. Noctis said, “Clearly it isn’t nothing. What do the hunters say about my dad?” 

For a second he thought Ignis was going to refuse to let the others tell him, but then Ignis’s shoulders sagged. Gladio seemed to take that as permission, because he said, “Lotta people ain’t happy about how Regis handled things after he took the throne. Ceding Galahd to the Niffs, protecting Insomnia at the cost of the rest of the kingdom.” His jaw tightened and he looked away briefly before meeting Noct’s eyes again. “Protecting you at the cost of Insomnia and everyone in it.” 

Noct’s throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. It was too much like what Noct himself had thought, in those horrible days immediately after the Crown City fell. That other people thought it… that other people thought Noctis wasn’t worth it… he couldn’t blame them, not really. But the knowledge was a knife to his heart, to his memory of his father as a strong, infallible king. He made himself say, “The peace treaty was a bad deal all around and everyone knew it. But no one else had any ideas. The ‘Glaive couldn’t fight the Niffs’ daemonic weapons. My dad needed to get me away from them so I could stop Ardyn. He was doing what the gods and the Crystal told him to do.”

“You know that, and we know that,” Ignis said gently, “but few Insomnians truly follow the Cosmogony anymore. Pilgrimages to the Disc of Cauthess had been slowing for decades before King Mors pulled the Wall back, and without that protection, Crown City residents stopped going altogether. For most, the Six are little more than legends, distant slumbering gods who’ve no interest in humanity.” 

“They’re not wrong, either,” Prompto muttered bitterly. 

Noctis glared at him, then at Ignis. “So all those covenants didn’t mean anything?” he demanded. “People saw them and, what, _shrugged_?” 

“Coulda been just big daemons,” Gladio said. “Niffs were sure as hell trying to kill ‘em like daemons. Point is,” he added quickly when Noctis opened his mouth to interrupt, “yeah, _we_ know the gods are real. We know you’re the True King the holy books talk about. But most people don’t believe any of that. They just saw a king who allowed that sham of a treaty to happen and his country to fall.” 

Noctis turned away, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. He wanted to deny it, to defend his father against those horrible accusations, but the people who needed to hear it weren’t there. No, they were trapped in darkness twelve years in the future, and would remain trapped there unless and until Noctis managed to find Ardyn and return. 

He sighed, the anger leaving his body as quickly as it had come, and with it the desire to fight. Sinking back into the armchair, he threaded his fingers together and pressed his forehead against his hands. “I’m going to make it right,” he whispered. “I have to.” 

Footsteps, muffled on the carpet, then Ignis’s hand on his shoulder. “We know you will,” he said, though the waver in his voice betrayed what they were all thinking. 

Noctis would make it right, but at the cost of his own life.


	5. Past Selves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing this isn't the kind of time travel that has paradoxes...

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

No one had anything to say after that, and the suite fell into a grim silence. Ignis dropped onto the couch with a sigh, folding his hands and resting his chin against his knuckles. Prompto sat on the floor in front of the window, but instead of basking like he had before, he was hunched and drawn. Gladio went back to pacing, the kind of restless energy Noctis recognized all too well from the days immediately after the Altissia disaster: Gladio was frustrated and furious. At least Noctis finally understood that regardless of which direction he lashed out, all that anger was directed inward at Gladio himself, for his own helplessness and inability to fix what was wrong.

Noctis stayed in the armchair. He hadn’t meant to sour the mood, but it wasn’t like the Starscourge and the gods’ plan to fix it were _his_ fault. Last night’s traitorous wish whispered across his mind: _I don’t want to die._ But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was the one the gods had chosen for their sacrifice. If he resisted, if he chose not to fight Ardyn when they returned to their own time, all he’d manage to do would be to buy himself a few more years on a dying world, until all of humanity was consumed by the Scourge. 

Lost in thought as he was, he actually jumped when Ignis said suddenly, “Noct. Could I speak with you for a moment?” 

Prompto glanced up from the window, then away again, his expression guilty. Gladio kept pacing, barely bothering to look at them. Noctis sighed. “Sure.” He stood and followed Ignis into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them. 

He was expecting to get a verbal dressing-down from Ignis about his reaction to what Gladio had said about Regis, so it surprised him when Ignis said quietly, “We’re being watched.”

Noct frowned. “What?” 

“It’s subtle, but for the last several minutes I’ve heard movement behind the walls.”

“Great,” Noctis muttered. It wasn’t common knowledge, but back when the Citadel had first been built, it had included a series of servants’ passages spiderwebbed throughout the walls of the structure to allow servants to attend the resident nobility without committing the hideous offense of being seen. The passages hadn’t been used in over a century and a half, after some political brouhaha had made it gauche to use “lesser” servants rather than fully paid staff, but they’d never been sealed off in case they needed to be used to evacuate the royal family in secret. Or, like now, in case someone needed to be watched in secret through the peepholes meant to allow servants to check that they weren’t interrupting. “Not only is my dad refusing to talk to us, he’s _spying_ on us.” 

“I’m not sure it’s the Crownsguard,” Ignis said. “A ‘Guard wouldn’t be so noisy.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Noctis pointed out. “They probably don’t realize how well you can hear.” 

Ignis pressed his lips together in the way that meant he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but didn’t have a better one. 

“Who else would it be?” Noctis asked. “It’s not like Ardyn would skulk around in the walls, and hardly anyone even knows we’re here.” 

“True,” Ignis admitted reluctantly. “I suppose only the Crownsguard know about the old servants’ passages anymore, anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis said. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it, though. Might even be why my dad hasn’t talked to us yet - he’s hoping whoever’s watching us will see something to confirm our story.” 

“Or refute it,” Ignis said, and sighed. “In that case, we’ve little choice but to tolerate it.” 

“We should tell Gladio and Prompto,” Noctis said.

“I already signaled them,” Ignis said. As if he could see Noctis’s raised eyebrows, he added, “The hunters have quite an elaborate set of hand signals to use in the field. We’ve all learned enough to get by.”

“Oh.” Noctis felt that by now he ought to be used to how his friends had so many things shared among them which didn’t include him, but every new thing he learned about was like a fresh kick to the gut. He knew it was selfish and stupid, knew he should be glad they’d found ways to bond in his absence despite otherwise drifting apart, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

Distracted by that thought, it wasn’t until he’d followed Ignis back out into the main room that he remembered the Crownsguard _weren’t_ the only ones who knew about the old servants’ passages anymore. Ignis was right - a ‘Guard on spy duty wouldn’t be heard, even by someone with Ignis’s hearing. But the others who knew… they were young and mostly untrained still, and inclined to whisper to each other thinking they were safe behind the wall. 

Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Noctis bypassed his chair and went instead to lean on the interior wall, the one he knew held the servants’ passage. “Actually, Ignis,” he said lightly, “I think you were right. It’s been a crazy few days, and I’m not thinking clearly.” 

Ignis tilted his head; he, too, kept his expression blank but Noctis knew him well enough to tell that he wasn’t yet sure where Noctis was going with this. Gladio stopped pacing, eyeing Noctis warily, and Prompto sat up straighter, one leg curling under him like a coeurl about to pounce. Noctis flicked a glance at each of them, pointing carefully at the wall with his thumb, then making a flicking movement like a door opening. From this angle, their watchers wouldn’t be able to see the movement through the peephole, but he still didn’t want to risk giving anything away. 

Gladio stared at him a moment longer, then grunted and turned away, though Noctis knew he was watching them in the reflections on the big windows. Prompto rolled the rest of the way to his feet and nudged past Ignis to lean against the side of the big chair; from this angle Noctis could barely see Prompto tap the back of Ignis’s hand as he passed. It must have been some kind of silent touch code, since Ignis couldn’t see hand signs, because Ignis nodded and sat down primly on the couch. 

As they moved, Noctis slid his hand up the wall, tracing his fingers over the decorative moulding that ran around the room at waist height. If he remembered correctly, the hidden latch to open the passage would be right along… 

There. He flipped the latch, and a section of the wall a couple feet to his left slid soundlessly aside, revealing a narrow dark passage - and three wide-eyed boys huddled together in its center. 

For a couple of seconds, all Noctis could do was stare. He’d forgotten how young he’d looked at eighteen, all skin and bones and long gangly limbs during his last growth spurt. His hair was shorter, neater, not the shaggy, spiky style he’d started wearing the summer after graduation. He’d begun spiking it after overhearing some kids teasing Prompto about his own unruly cowlicks, and had inadvertently started a spike-haired fashion trend among the young adults of Insomnia. 

But this younger version of Noctis still wore his hair short, which meant the younger Ignis who accompanied him likewise had neat downswept bangs. Below the bangs, Ignis's eyes were intact, sharp and green and _Stars_ , but Noctis hadn’t realized how much he’d missed those eyes. At twenty, this Ignis’s cheekbones were still soft with the last remnants of baby fat, and his shoulders hadn’t yet filled out. The younger Gladio, too, was much smaller than his adult counterpart, the bulge of muscles only just visible under his hoodie instead of straining the fabric. He was a month shy of twenty-one, with a Crownsguard crew cut and no scars, and his face was open and innocent in a way it hadn’t been since a drunkard with a knife had given him his first real test as Noct’s Shield. 

All three of them stared in shocked silence. Noctis was dimly aware that he and his friends were gaping just as openly - except Ignis, who had both eyes open and turned toward their younger counterparts, but looked as unruffled as though meeting his past self was an everyday occurance. “You might as well come in,” he said calmly. 

The three boys jumped at the sound of his voice. Young Noctis said, in a tone of wonder, “Stars, you really are—I mean, it’s really…” 

“No _way_!” Young Gladio protested. His voice was startlingly light, nothing like the gravelly rumble of Noct’s thirty-three-year-old Shield. “This ain’t possible!” 

“Clearly it is,” Ignis said. “Though we were as surprised by it as you are. Please, come in and sit down.” He rose to his feet and gestured to the couch, offering it to them. 

Young Noctis and Young Gladio both looked at Young Ignis; he sighed and nodded. “I suppose we might as well,” he said, then blinked and frowned, as though realizing he’d inadvertently echoed what Ignis had said a moment ago. Young Gladio stepped forward first, putting himself pointedly between Young Noctis and the adults in the room. The other two followed, Young Noctis staring with uneasy fascination at Prompto and Gladio in their Kingsglaive uniforms, at Noctis in his royal finery. Young Ignis, though, kept his gaze on Ignis, those sharp green eyes narrowed as he studied his older self’s face.

“How’d you find out about us?” Gladio asked as they settled themselves on the couch. He’d moved to stand beside the armchair Noctis had been sitting in, with Prompto on its other side, so Noctis took the hint and crossed the room to sit between them. Ignis stayed where he was beside the couch, just far enough away to not loom over the boys seated there, but close enough to hear their movements. 

Young Noctis shrugged, slouching into the couch in what Noctis recognized as an attempt to look casual. Seen from the outside, with two additional years of maturity and twelve years of life under his belt, it was painfully obvious how faked it was. Young Noctis said, “Everyone’s been acting weird all day. I was supposed to see Dad after school and he _never_ cancels that, but he canceled, and then Cor told me I could skip training today and stay home.” 

Both Gladios snorted in unison; the adult version said, “Of course that’s what tipped you off.” 

“My dad tried to get me to stay home today, too,” Young Gladio said. “Ignis, too.” 

“Once we realized they didn’t want the three of us specifically at the Citadel, we knew something was up,” Young Noctis said. “So we snuck inside. It took a while, but we figured out the Crownsguard had this wing closed off, so we came up to take a look. Are you guys really... _us_?” 

Noctis nodded. “From about twelve and a half years in the future.” 

Young Noctis looked over at Prompto. “Prompto? You made Kingsglaive?” 

Prompto nodded. His grim expression and lack of his former trademark excitement seemed to throw Young Noctis; the prince glanced uneasily at Young Ignis, then back at Noctis. “So… what happened? How are you here from the future?” 

“Some kind of magical mishap,” Ignis said. 

“Whoa,” Young Noctis said. “You got your magic working?” 

Noctis had to stop and think about that one; he’d forgotten how badly he’d once struggled with even the simplest of Lucis Caelum magic. It hadn't been until after he’d graduated and spent dedicated training time that he’d really started making progress. “Yeah, basically.” 

“Awesome!” Young Noctis’s eyes lit up.

Noctis had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling _no, not ‘awesome’ - that magic is what’s going to kill me as soon as I go back!_ But the teenage child in front of him didn’t - couldn’t - know what awaited him. He made himself take a deep breath. “You know you shouldn’t be here, right?” 

“You guys are us from the future,” Young Noctis said. “If anyone should be here, it’s us.” He sat up straighter. “And Prompto. I’m gonna call him—”

“No,” Prompto interjected, sharp and cold enough that Young Noctis froze with his hand halfway to the pocket where he kept his cell phone. Noctis shot Prompto a look out of the corner of his eye, and Prompto managed to moderate his tone to something more reasonable as he added, “You aren’t going to be able to get him into the Citadel right now. You’ll just freak him out.” He rubbed his right wrist under the sleeve of his jacket, his eyes distant and cold. 

“He’s right,” Young Ignis said. He was watching them with narrow green eyes, a familiar expression: he knew the adults were hiding something. He crossed his legs and folded his hands over his knee. “We can involve Prompto later. For now, I think we ought to take advantage of this opportunity to speak with our, ah, future selves before we’re discovered by the Crownsguard.” 

“We’re not going to be discovered by the Crownsguard,” Young Noctis said, his tone suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d said that. “But yeah, we should talk.” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to Noctis’s hand where it rested on the arm of his chair. “You’re… wearing the Ring.” 

Huh. Apparently eighteen-year-old him had actually been kind of perceptive. Noctis sighed, his fingers closing into a fist around the Ring. “Yeah. It’s a long story.” 

“One which is not for you to know,” Ignis cut in. 

“Why the hell not?!” Young Noctis demanded. “It’s my future!”

Ignis shook his head. “That may be, but it’s not our place to reveal its secrets.” 

“You’re revealing secrets just by being here,” Young Gladio pointed out. “Like that—that Noctis gets the Ring sometime in the next twelve years.” 

Young Noctis flinched at the words; despite the euphemism, they all knew he meant _Regis dies in the next twelve years_. Ignis opened his mouth to respond, but Young Ignis cut him off, his voice tight and sharp as he faced his older self. “There’s also the rather important matter of your eyes. You’re doing an admirable job of hiding it, but I’m afraid it’s not enough.” His voice wavered, his chest hitching as he took a deep breath. “You’re blind. Aren’t you.” 

Young Noctis gasped audibly and Young Gladio spun to stare at Ignis. For his part, Ignis kept his expression blank, but lifted a hand to his face and removed his mirrored glasses. Without them, the eerie silver film over his irises was clearly visible, the scar around his left eye standing in stark relief. Young Ignis stared in horrified silence, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, his own eyes wide. 

Ignis said levelly, “There is a reason King Regis did not want you to encounter us.” 

“I don’t care!” Young Noctis burst out. “If this what our future is like, shouldn’t we get to _know_?!”

The raw fear in his voice hit Noctis in the gut. For a second he was twenty years old again, standing in the Tomb of the Wise and fighting not to break down sobbing as he yelled, _why didn’t he tell me that? Why did he stand there smiling as I left? Why—Why did he lie to me?_

He didn’t realize he was speaking until the words were already out: “They should know.” 

“Noct—” Prompto said, then snapped his mouth closed so hard his teeth audibly clicked. 

Ignis frowned. “I don’t think that would be wise.” 

“He’s right,” Noctis said. “It’s his future. I know my dad was trying to protect me by not telling me anything, but all it did was leave me totally unprepared.”

“He wanted you to have a chance to live your life before your destiny took over,” Ignis said gently.

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Noctis said. It was even true; if his father hadn’t let him have a mostly normal life, he never would’ve met Prompto - and he wouldn’t trade Prompto for anything. “But he’s eighteen,” Noct continued, with a wave of his hand at his younger self. “If he’s going to be ready when Ardyn comes knocking, he needs to start preparing now.” 

For a moment Ignis just stood there with his head tilted, his new equivalent of the piercing green stare his younger counterpart was even now giving Noctis. Noct waited, saying nothing; one of his hard-learned lessons of the months before he’d been drawn into the Crystal was that _he_ was the king, and while he should listen to his friends’ advice, in the end it was his decision that mattered. 

Finally Ignis sighed. “As you will, then,” he said, and stepped away from the couch, one hand out to feel for the second armchair. 

As he sat, Noctis glanced up at Gladio, but all Gladio said was, “You sure?” 

Noctis nodded. Gladio looked over at Young Noctis, and repeated pointedly, “ _You_ sure?” 

To his credit, Young Noctis hesitated for a moment, his eyes dropping to his lap. But then his fists clenched on his knees, and he said, “It’s… pretty obvious I’m not going to like what you’re going to say. But that makes it even more important that I hear it. Doesn’t it?” 

For just a second, the boy sitting on the couch didn’t look like a kid - he looked a prince, terrified and unprepared but determined to do the right thing. Noct hadn’t been proud of who he’d been at eighteen, self-centered and immature and lashing out in fear of the responsibilities looming over him, but his younger self was displaying a backbone Noctis hadn’t thought he had. Prompto’s words from yesterday echoed in his mind: _we can change things_. 

They deserved to know. Noctis met his younger self’s eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “It starts in the winter of seven fifty-six…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incredible [Puffbird](https://puffbirdstudio.tumblr.com/) made a stunning (and heartbreaking) [illustration](https://puffbirdstudio.tumblr.com/post/184581572647/hmmmm-some-futures-are-maybe-not-futures-youll-be) for this chapter! <3


	6. Attack on the Citadel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise attack and a missing friend.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Noctis told his younger self much the same version of events as he’d told Regis yesterday, leaving out only the truth about Prompto’s origins and what had happened to him in Gralea. That was Prompto’s story to share or not, especially since the eighteen-year-old Prompto of this time wasn’t here. It still took more than twice as long to tell everything, because all three boys kept interrupting with questions and exclamations. 

But as Noctis got to the end, to the truth of his destiny and the death he faced at the hands of his ancestors, they fell into a horrified silence. Noctis forced his voice to stay level, calm, as he told his younger self what Bahamut had explained to him inside the Crystal: the true purpose of the Lucis Caelums, the blood price they had to pay to save the world. When he’d finished, silence hung over the room, broken only by his younger self’s short gasping breaths, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Not that Noctis could blame him; it had taken him a long time to come to terms with everything inside the Crystal, and even now that traitorous refrain echoed in time with his heartbeat:  _I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die._

He waited, letting his gaze fall on the view out the big windows on the far wall. Sunset painted the streets of Insomnia red and gold, the last traces of daylight shining like fire along the buildings. They'd been in the past almost twenty-four hours already.

Abruptly Young Gladio burst out, “That ain't _fair!_ ” Noctis looked back at him in time to see him bang a fist against his knee. “Why does Noct - why do you - have to die?”

“It's plenty fair,” Noctis said. His voice came out hard, not quite hiding the bitterness he couldn't chase away. “One life for all humanity. Really, it's a good deal.”

“But it's _not_ ,” Young Ignis protested. “You shouldn't - it shouldn't—”

“Then who?” Noctis cut in. “You? Gladio? Prompto?” Young Noctis flinched at that, but Noctis kept talking: “How is that any more or less fair? Just because I was born a prince doesn't mean I deserve life any more than anyone else.” His fists clenched. “This is why the gods gave my family power in the first place. If I don't do this, I’m throwing away humanity’s only chance at survival.”

The room seemed to grow darker at his words, though in reality it was just the sun dropping below the distant horizon. Nobody said anything for a few minutes; their younger selves seemed too shaken, and Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto were resigned and grim. Noctis, despite what he'd said, still felt the same ache of unfairness he’d tried to deny. If he hadn't been born a Lucis Caelum, he wouldn't be facing his own death now. _No,_ he thought bitterly. _I’d be facing death by Starscourge or daemons while waiting for the Lucis Caelums to do their job._

He sighed, abruptly bone-tired. He’d been ready yesterday to accept his death, but having to explain it to his younger self, to sit here waiting on a past version of his father to make a decision… this was much harder. He wanted to _move_ , to go out and find Ardyn and get this over with. But he was stuck here, and all he could do was warn his past self and hope he’d be better prepared—

A siren began to wail. 

All of them jumped; Gladio and Prompto summoned weapons to their hands and scanned the room warily, while Ignis tensed, head tilted to listen. A second siren joined the first, then a third and fourth. “What the hell?!” Noctis yelped.

At almost the same time, Young Ignis and Young Gladio’s phones began blaring an alarm: the Crownsguard alert, a warning that something dire was happening. Young Ignis fumbled his phone out of his pocket and scanned the screen, while Young Gladio shot to his feet in front of Young Noctis. “What's going on?” he demanded.

“...Daemons,” Young Ignis said incredulously. “Daemons have been spotted in the courtyard of the Citadel.”

“ _What?!_ ” Gladio snapped. 

“There can't be daemons here,” Prompto protested. “This is the _Citadel!_ We're inside the Wall!”

“Apparently that is irrelevant,” Young Ignis said, his tone distracted as he skimmed the alert on his phone. “Multiple guardsmen are reporting sightings. All available Crownsguard are instructed to gather in the courtyard to mount a defense.”

Noctis pushed to his feet and crossed the room to the still-open servants’ passage. “Let's go.”

Gladio and Prompto were already on his heels, Ignis half a step behind them. The three boys, though, seemed frozen in place. “Go where?” Young Noctis asked.

“To find a balcony where we can see,” Noctis answered. He didn’t add, _and help if we can_. Their younger selves wouldn’t be fighting anyway. He ducked into the passage, struggling to remember the route through the hidden halls. Gladio muscled in front of him, then Young Noctis pushed past them both. 

His face was pale, but his mouth was set in a determined line. “This way,” he said, and hurried into the dark. Noctis flicked on his jacket light and followed, the others close behind. 

They emerged a minute later through another hidden door into the central hall of the tower. Huge windows dominated one wall, with elegant doors set along the bottom which opened onto a narrow balcony that ran along the face of the tower. Noctis led them out onto the balcony - and stared down at the chaos in the courtyard in dismay. 

“Those are Iseultalons,” Prompto breathed, horrified. “And… is that—”

“That's that damn Cerberus,” Gladio said. He leaned out over the railing for a better look and Prompto grabbed his jacket to steady him. Far below, the Cerberus roared in unsettling triple harmony, and a chorus of screams echoed up from the Crownsguard caught in its attack. 

“We killed it, though,” Noctis protested.

“Apparently not thoroughly enough,” Ignis said grimly. “The hunters have noticed lately that powerful daemons no longer die, but are merely temporarily dispelled. Apparently that's true for the Cerberus as well.”

“Or it's from the past,” Gladio suggested. “We killed it in the future, but it's still around now.”

“Either way, it's more than the Crownsguard can handle,” Ignis said. “Noct?”

“We should help,” Noctis said. He turned back to the balcony doors; he could jump over the rail and warp down, but his friends couldn't, and he knew better than to dive in alone. “Come on.”

“Hey, Noct,” Young Gladio said sharply, and Noctis turned. But he was apparently talking to Young Noctis, who stood just inside the door, staring at his phone. Young Gladio thumped him on the arm. “What's wrong?”

Young Noctis turned the phone so they could see the messaging app on the screen. “I texted Prompto - I know he's across the city, but I wanted to make sure he's okay - but he hasn't responded.”

“It’s late,” Young Ignis said dismissively. “He’s likely asleep, or away from his phone.” 

Young Noctis glared. “It’s barely seven PM. I know you’re an old fogey who goes to bed at eight, but the rest of us normal kids are awake until midnight.” 

“I am not—” Young Ignis tried to interrupt, but Young Noctis barreled over him. 

“Anyway, even if he _was_ asleep, Prompto always answers his phone.” He punctuated this with a shake of his own phone at Young Ignis. “Always. I’ve texted him at three in the morning and he’s answered.” 

Prompto snorted, a fond expression on his face. “I remember that.” 

“Why were you—Never mind,” Young Ignis said, exasperated. “In any case, I’m sure he has a reason for not responding immediately. We need to get you to safety and let them—” tilting his head toward Noctis and the other adults— “help the Crownsguard against the daemons.” 

Young Noctis shook his head. “But what if something’s wrong?”

“Like what?” Gladio and Young Gladio asked in unison. Gladio narrowed his eyes at his younger counterpart, and Young Gladio scowled back. 

“I don’t know,” Young Noctis said. “Just… I have a bad feeling, okay? Prompto _always_ texts me back.” 

“He’s probably in the shower or something,” Prompto offered. “I used to go for runs around this time, and I didn’t take my phone into the shower with me after.”

“Like you said, he’s across the city,” Gladio said. “No reason for anything to be wrong.” 

“Send him one more message,” Ignis suggested in his reasonable tone, “and give him ten minutes to respond. If you still don’t hear from him, then we can start to worry.” 

Noctis could tell from the set of his younger self’s jaw that he didn’t like that answer, but didn’t have a better suggestion. Young Noctis sighed and lifted the phone, thumbs tapping out another message. “Fine.” 

Young Ignis grabbed Young Noctis by the elbow, steering him along with the group as they returned to the servants’ passage and from there to the suite. They’d barely got inside before Ignis went abruptly still, head cocked to listen. “Someone’s coming,” he said, and motioned to the boys. “Into the bedroom, quickly. You’re not supposed to be here.”

They went without protest - or more accurately, Young Noctis opened his mouth to say something but withered under a look from Young Gladio. The bedroom door had barely closed behind them before there was a knock at the suite’s front door, followed a moment later by the door opening. A teenager in the uniform of a Crownsguard trainee stepped inside, eyes wide, her entire bearing screaming nervousness through the ramrod-straight ‘Guard posture.

“Excuse me,” she said. “His Majesty the King sent me.” 

“Great,” Gladio said. He took a step toward the door. “We're ready.”

“Uh… I'm sorry, um, what?” the kid stammered. 

“We're going to help,” Noctis said. “That's why you're here, right? I know those sirens - there's a daemon attack. We can help.” He was positive that wasn't why the kid was there, but maybe he’d be able to talk her into going along with this if he acted like it was the expected thing. 

“Um, no, I mean, I’m…” The poor kid looked terrified. “I’m, uh, I’m here to guard you?”

Gladio took another step toward the door. “We don't need guarding,” he said. “The four of us have killed more daemons than the rest of the ’Guard put together.”

The kid fell back a step, and no wonder - Gladio was easily twice her size, and looked ready to simply bull-rush right through her. But she still managed to say, “I’m sorry, but I... I was ordered to make sure you stay here. Where it's safe.”

Prompto made a derisive noise and even Ignis looked like it was taking all he had not to roll his good eye. No wonder - this kid was barely a trainee, and had probably never seen a real fight in her life. Noctis signaled Prompto and Ignis to stand down, then stepped forward, into Gladio's line of sight. The warning headshake he gave Gladio was more for the kid’s benefit, but Gladio subsided anyway.

Noctis fixed the girl with a grim look, channeling his father's expression of stern disapproval with all his might. “We understand,” he said coolly. “Is that all?”

The girl quailed. “Yes, your… uh… your… Sir!” Her eyes darted to either side, then back to Gladio and Noctis, clearly gauging whether or not it was wise to stand guard inside the room as she’d probably been ordered. “I’ll… um... be right outside if you need anything,” she squeaked, then turned and fled back through the door.

When she was gone, Prompto laughed. “You're getting pretty good at the whole ‘king’ thing.”

Gladio snorted. “About damn time,” he teased, but softened it with a crinkle-eyed smile. “Now what? I didn't figure Regis’d let us out, but I ain't keen on beating up a kid to go help.”

“We won't have to,” Noctis pointed out, with a nod toward the hidden door to the servants’ passage. “You can get all the way to the ground floor through there.”

“Good,” Gladio said. “What about—” He jerked a thumb at the bedroom where their younger selves were hiding. 

On cue, Young Noctis burst out of the bedroom, phone in hand. “It's been ten minutes,” he said. “Prompto still hasn't texted back. Can we _please_ do something about it?”

Noctis glanced at the adult Prompto, who wore an uneasy expression as he picked at the cuff of his right sleeve. “He’s right,” Prompto said. “I should have responded by now.”

Gladio stepped up beside him, wrapping one big hand around Prompto’s wrist. To Noctis, he said, “Wouldn't be the first time Ardyn's… done something like that.” The furtive glance he shot toward their younger selves told Noctis he meant _wouldn't be the first time Ardyn's targeted Prompto_. 

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed. 

“I don't disagree that we should ensure Prompto - this time’s Prompto - is safe,” Ignis said, “but getting to him will be difficult. He's on the other side of the city.”

“I _know!_ ” Young Noctis said, clearly frustrated. “So let's go already!”

Young Ignis put a hand on Young Noctis’s arm. “He's right,” he said. “No one outside this room knows you're in the Citadel. If you're seen, you’ll be whisked away by the Crownsguard until the daemonic threat is contained.”

Noctis rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking. “Okay, here's what we're going to do,” he said. “Guys—” looking at his adult friends— “Get these three out of the Citadel to somewhere safe. Whatever Ardyn's up to, if he did something to kid Prompto, he might come after them next.”

“What about you?” Young Gladio asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Adult Gladio was giving Noctis the same stinkeye, albeit for a different reason - he probably knew what Noctis was thinking. Still, getting it from both of them at once was a little intimidating, never mind that Noctis was older than one of them.

He flashed a cocky grin to hide it. “I’m going to take the express route to Prompto's place.” 


	7. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis finds Young Prompto - and Ardyn.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Noctis floated high above his city, its nighttime lights glittering below and sending bright flashes through the crystalline glaives that surrounded him. The look of awe on his younger self’s face when Noct had called on the power of his ancestors and leaped off the balcony had almost been worth the knowledge that this was the same power which would kill him as soon as he returned to the present. At least he’d get some use out of it beforehand. 

The city looked different enough from up here that it took him a minute to figure out which direction Prompto’s house was. Prompto had lived in a comfortably middle-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, several miles from the Citadel. The route by car took some thirty minutes or more depending on traffic, but flying up here, able to bypass the complex street grid, Noctis made it in under ten. 

He dropped to the street in front of the little house and stared in dismay. Prompto’s front door had been smashed open, golden light spilling out onto his tiny front patio. Thin streaks of blood marked the flagstones, and the acrid scent of daemon miasma hung in the air. 

Dismissing the Armiger, Noctis ran inside. He knew in his gut that he was too late, but he searched the house anyway, nearly tripping over the smashed remnants of the kitchen table. A curtain rod had been yanked down and shattered, the handrail of the stairs to the second floor broken off partway up. As he raced to Prompto's bedroom, a cheerful tune started playing - Prompto’s ringtone. 

The bedroom was an even bigger mess than the rest of the house: the desk and chair in splinters, the window shattered, glass and schoolbooks tumbled everywhere. Noctis could imagine all too clearly what had happened. Prompto would have gone for his usual run after getting home from his part-time job, showered, and changed into pajamas, then sprawled out on his bed to do homework. Whatever had broken into his house had done it fast, leaving him no time to call for help before barging in and grabbing him.

The phone was still ringing; Noct found it buried under a tangled mess of torn bedsheets that had been dragged from the bed most of the way to the door. The name on the screen was _Prince of Naptime_ and he choked down a laugh that was more hysterical than he could afford right now. That had been an in-joke between him and Prompto for most of the second half of senior year; he’d all but forgotten about it in the years since. 

He hit the _answer_ button, and his younger self’s voice immediately said, “Prompto? Are you okay? Where have you—”

“Not Prompto,” Noctis interrupted. “Give the phone to Ignis.” 

“But—”

“ _Now_ ,” Noctis said, putting a bit of his father into it, and was relieved to hear shuffling and rustling noises.

“Noct?” Ignis asked. 

“Looks like Ardyn got him,” Noctis said without preamble. “Or… Ardyn’s daemons, probably. Everything’s torn up.” 

Ignis huffed out a sigh. “We’re down to ground level at the Citadel, but everything’s still in disarray. It will be some time yet before we’re able to reach the garage and a vehicle.” 

“Okay,” Noctis said. “I’m going to see if I can figure out where they went.”

“Keep this phone on you,” Ignis said. “We don’t have access to tracking resources, but we can at least get in touch with you.” 

“Got it,” Noctis said. “I’ll call you back when I have an idea where I’m going.” He hung up, dropped the phone into a pocket, and hurried back through the house to the street. Worry churned in his gut as he went, along with a swirl of guilt. Even though he knew there was no way they could have done anything to stop this - Ardyn had probably made his move the moment the sun went down, so Noctis would have been too late even if he’d left when Young Noctis had first said something was wrong - he couldn’t help but feel it was his fault Young Prompto had been taken. Noctis should have pushed his dad harder, should have insisted on getting out there and looking for Ardyn. 

_ King Do-Nothing _ , Gladio had said, bitterly. Regis had sat on his hands and waited, and it had put Prompto in danger. Noctis couldn’t afford to waste any more time. 

He burst out onto the street, then skidded to a stop in confusion when he saw an elderly woman peeking around the curve of the fence. She held a cell phone in one hand; Noctis could just make out the emergency numbers already dialed on the screen, waiting for her to push the call button. She eyed him up and down, then asked, “You’re Crownsguard, aren’t you?” 

Close enough. Noctis nodded. “Did you see what happened?”

“Daemons,” the woman proclaimed. She pointed to a house a little ways up the road, whose windows had a clear view of the street in front of Prompto’s house. “It was about half an hour ago. I was eating dinner when I saw ‘em running up the street. They broke into the Argentums’ house and dragged that poor boy out.” 

“Where’d they go?”

She pointed in the opposite direction. “Out toward the factories.”

Noctis took off running. “Thanks!” he called over his shoulder. 

As he ran, he pulled out Young Prompto’s phone and shot off a quick text to let Ignis and the others know which direction he was going. The phone buzzed with replies almost instantly, but he ignored them in favor of pouring on more speed. Half an hour was a hell of a head start, even on foot, and he briefly considered calling the Armiger again and flying - but even with the full power of the Crystal at his disposal, the Armiger still took a lot out of him, and he wasn’t sure calling it a second time so soon would be a good idea. Plus, the factory district was full of tall buildings and deep shadows. If he was in the air, it would be too easy to miss daemons clinging to the darkest spaces. 

On the other hand, nothing said the daemons had to stick to the direction they’d started out in. If they’d turned down a side street once out of sight of the old woman…

He shoved that thought down. Daemons, even ones under Ardyn’s control, generally weren’t that bright. They would take the shortest path between them and wherever their destination was, which meant their destination was something in this direction. He had to believe that - Insomnia was too big a city, too easy to get lost in, for any other option. 

Despite his fears, he couldn’t keep up the sprint for long, and had to settle into the ground-eating jog he’d used with his friends in the wilds of Duscae and Cleigne. Slower, but sustainable. The occasional nauseating whiffs of daemon miasma in the air reassured him that he was moving in the right direction, and he could only hope that he was gaining ground. 

He was deep in the factory district, jogging along an uneven sidewalk on the edge of a worn-down road, when he spotted bright red blood drops on the sidewalk. Fresh, still gleaming. His stomach knotted at the thought that Young Prompto was injured and bleeding - but at the same time, hope surged through him. He had to be close. Despite the burning ache in his legs and lungs, he picked up speed again, dress shoes slapping the pavement in a steady rhythm. 

Then shadowy figures passed beneath a flickering streetlamp half a mile up the road. Noctis squinted, struggling to make out the shapes - but he’d fought too many bussemand not to recognize their distinctive cavorting gait. Calling a sword to hand, Noctis flung it as far as he could, warped, and did it again, this time landing on the wall of one of the massive factories only a few hundred feet behind the daemons. This close, he could see the squirming, struggling figure one of them held tucked beneath its arm. 

_ Prompto _ .

Noctis flung the sword again, warping in and taking out the rearmost bussemand in a single hit. He took down the second with a spear through the chest before it realized what was going on, and beheaded a third even as it squealed an alarm. Two more leaped at him, but Noctis phased through their attack and zeroed in on the one holding Young Prompto. He warped close, calling daggers to his hands and slashing at the bussemand’s chest and shoulder, forcing it to drop Young Prompto in a heap on the ground in order to defend itself.

It wasn’t enough. Noctis ran the bussemand through, then pounced on the remaining daemons, weapons flashing as he ripped them apart. They were almost hilariously weak, probably struggling just to hold their forms within the protective bounds of the Crystal, and dispatching them took maybe ten seconds. When they were gone, their bodies dissolving into miasma wisps, Noctis turned back to Young Prompto - and froze. 

Ardyn Izunia stood there, one hand wrapped around Young Prompto’s throat, the other holding the boy’s right arm stretched out to the side. It was the first time Noctis had gotten a good look at Young Prompto, and the sight made his heart ache. Young Prompto looked terrified, his blue eyes huge, his thin chest heaving with stifled sobs. He wore nothing but a pair of _King’s Knight_ pajama pants and his old green-and-white wristband, his bare feet bloody, bruises swelling around his ribs where the bussemand had held him. Ardyn was clearly putting painful pressure on his throat and arm; he was trembling and tear tracks marked his cheeks.

“Ah, Noct,” Ardyn purred, as though they were meeting casually at some diplomatic function. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” It was a lie and they both knew it; Ardyn wouldn’t have kidnapped Young Prompto unless he wanted Noct to follow him. 

“Get away from him,” Noctis snarled. He called the Armiger, the crystalline weapons flashing grimly in the dim streetlamps, but Ardyn held Prompto in front of him like a shield and Noctis didn’t dare attack. 

Ardyn looked down at the boy trembling in his grasp. “Really, now,” he said. “All this effort, and for what?” A knife appeared in his hand in a shimmer of red, the same hand that held Young Prompto’s wrist, and Ardyn continued, “Such an _empty_ little thing.” The knife flashed, Prompto yelped, and the familiar wristband fell to the ground, sliced clean through, revealing the barcode tattoo stamped on his wrist. Ardyn met Noctis’s eyes over Young Prompto’s head. “I’m surprised you care. There are so many more where it came from, after all.” 

Noctis bit his tongue. He couldn’t rise to the bait, not when Ardyn had his hand around the boy’s throat. Instead, he demanded, “What are you after, anyway? First the attack on the Citadel, now this?” He was about to say more - but stopped as he realized the expression that had crossed Ardyn’s face at his words was _surprise_.

Still, Ardyn recovered quickly. “You know what I want, Noct.”

“Then let’s do this,” Noctis challenged him. “Let Prompto go and we’ll fight. You and me.” 

Ardyn laughed. “Right now? Your eagerness is flattering, my dear Noct. And rather surprising. You know what comes after our fight.” 

As he spoke, Young Prompto moved, his free hand coming up in front of his stomach. His hand was shaking, but he caught Noctis’s eye and folded down two fingers. It took all Noctis had to keep his gaze on Ardyn, to say, “Are you saying don’t want to fight after all? Coward.” 

Young Prompto folded down one more finger, then another. Noctis braced himself. 

“I want to spread the Starscourge—” Ardyn began, just as Young Prompto folded down the last finger. Noctis flung every glaive in the Armiger at Ardyn’s head even as Young Prompto went boneless, all his weight on Ardyn’s grip on his throat. Unprepared, Ardyn let go of him, then flung up his arms to block Noct’s attack. Red light shone around him, Ardyn’s Armiger flashing into existence, and Noctis called his own glaives back— 

Gunshots rang through the night, followed a moment later by the rumble of an engine and the squeal of tires. Ardyn jerked, miasma-tainted blood spraying from holes in his forehead, his shoulder, his side. Gladio’s voice yelled, “Noct!” and Noctis lunged forward, grabbing Young Prompto by the arm and shoving him behind himself, toward the sound of the approaching vehicle. 

Ardyn straightened, his face a nightmare of yellow eyes and oozing miasma, his mouth a rictus grin. “Ooh, a party,” he murmured. “But I’m having far too much fun here to let you and your companions steal me away now. We’ll meet again, Noct.” 

Noctis flung the entire Armiger at him once more, but Ardyn was already gone.


	8. Young Noctis's Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Noctis makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to post a few extra chapters to cut down my buffer. Now seems like a good time for it. <3

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Noctis flung the Armiger at Ardyn, but the man was already gone, his body dissolving into daemonic wisps which vanished into the shadows. In his place, the ground boiled with miasma, more bussemands rising up from the ooze. 

“Prompto!” Young Noctis shouted from somewhere behind Noct. 

Noctis turned to see a large black Kingsglaive tactical van skid to a stop in the center of the street, the back doors swinging open. Young Noctis leaned out, clinging to the sidebar with one hand, the other reaching for Young Prompto. The boy staggered to the van, bare feet leaving bloody footprints on the pavement. Noctis followed, the bussemands on his heels, catching up in time to help boost Young Prompto into the back of the van. Adult Ignis leaned out, grabbed Noctis by the arm, and hauled him in as well. 

“Daemons?” Ignis asked.

“Bussemands,” Noctis confirmed. He called a magic flask to hand and flung it behind him; fire blasted the area and the bussemands screeched in pain. But even as they died, more daemons burbled up from the shadows. Bigger ones, the sword of an iron giant and the scythe of a reaper gleaming in the flickering streetlights.

“Go!” Noctis called toward the front of the van. He threw another flask as he yanked the doors closed. The van jerked into motion, roaring away from the daemons. Young Prompto collapsed against Young Noctis, who pulled him deeper into the van, settling him next to him on the bench seat running along the left side of the van. Young Ignis, Young Gladio, and Adult Ignis sat on the opposite bench, the younger two leaning around Ignis to peer worriedly out the back windows. Noctis took the last open seat on the left-hand bench, on Young Prompto’s other side. 

Up in the front, Gladio sat shotgun and Prompto was driving. Prompto glanced over his shoulder at Noctis. “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Noctis confirmed. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Wait, what about the daemons?” Young Gladio asked. He half-stood, hand flexing as though he wanted to summon his sword and attack. 

“Getting the four of you to safety is more important right now,” Ignis said calmly. “We’ll inform the Crownsguard - they will cordon off the area until sunrise takes care of the issue.” 

Young Gladio’s jaw tightened, but he sat back down sullenly. Prompto drove them out of the factory district, onto the well-lit highway that ran around the outer edge of the city. Noctis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tried to catch his breath after all the running and Armiger and adrenaline. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Young Noctis murmured to Young Prompto. “It’s okay, we got you.” 

Young Prompto’s answer was unintelligible; lifting his head, Noctis saw that Young Prompto was curled half into Young Noctis’s lap, face buried against his chest. Young Noctis hugged him close, a familiar grim light in his eyes: he was furious that his friend had been hurt. Still, all things considered, Young Prompto wasn’t as badly injured as Noctis had feared. Spectacular bruises blossomed along his bare chest and arms, and his feet were scraped raw as though he’d tried to brace himself against the pavement and been dragged by the daemons, but nothing serious. Nothing like— 

( _Prompto hanging limp from a torture rack in the cold cells of Zegnautus, bloody and beaten, despair in his eyes and bruises in the shape of Ardyn’s hand on his throat_ )

Noctis shoved the memory away. He’d failed his own Prompto a few weeks - ten years - ago, but he’d saved this teenage version. He wouldn’t let Ardyn touch any version of Prompto ever again. 

“Hey,” Noctis said. “Uh, Prompto.” Adult Prompto glanced at him in the rearview, but Noct’s attention was on the younger version and he turned back to the road. Noctis touched Young Prompto’s shoulder gently. “You’re going to be fine. You did great back there. Just… just breathe, okay?” 

Young Prompto nodded, though he didn’t sit up. His right arm was tucked protectively close to his stomach, his left hand wrapped around his wrist, and Noctis remembered abruptly that Ardyn had sliced off the wristband which hid his barcode tattoo. Knowing Prompto, that was probably bothering him at least as much as the injuries.

“Ignis,” Noctis said, and both Ignises looked up. “Ardyn took a knife to Prompto’s wrist. His right wrist,” he added, and hoped their younger selves would believe the clarification was only for the benefit of the blind adult Ignis. 

Up in the front of the van, Prompto flinched, his expression tense and closed in the rearview. Gladio reached across and gripped Prompto’s wrist where he held the steering wheel, fingers wrapping over the barcode there. Prompto didn’t relax, exactly, but leaned into the touch. _Something_ was clearly going on with them, something more than just Prompto being hyper-sensitive about the barcode, but at least Gladio seemed to have it under control, whatever “it” was. Noctis could deal with it later. 

He turned back to Ignis. “Do we have any bandages?” 

“Kingsglaive tactical vans are stocked with medical equipment sets,” Ignis said, already leaning down to feel under the bench seat. 

“Over here,” Young Gladio said, and hauled a large metal box out into the space between the bench seats.

While he and the Ignises - Igni? - cracked open the kit and began sorting out its contents, Noctis coaxed Young Prompto’s wrist away from his body, careful to keep the barcode covered with his own hand. Young Prompto stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, but let him do it. Noctis wasn’t sure if it was because he trusted Young Noctis enough to outweigh everything else, or if he was simply too scared to protest. Noct knew just how brave and competent Prompto could be, but this eighteen-year-old kid hadn’t even been through the abbreviated Crownsguard training the adult version had received before they’d left for Altissia. He was just a normal high schooler who’d had the misfortune of befriending a doomed prince. 

“Any other injuries?” Ignis asked.

“His feet are bleeding,” Young Noctis answered. Young Prompto blinked and looked down at his feet as though noticing the scrapes there for the first time. He swallowed hard, looking suddenly green; Young Noctis tightened his arms around him.

Ignis handed Noctis a roll of thick gauze. “Take care of that wrist first,” he said. 

“I’ll take care of his feet,” Young Ignis offered, and slid down to sit cross-legged on the floor of the van, a pack of sterile cleansing wipes in hand. He tugged one of Young Prompto’s feet into his lap and began cleaning off the blood and gravel.

Noctis turned back to Young Prompto. Meeting his eyes, making his voice as reassuring as possible, Noctis said, “I’m gonna wrap this, okay?” Hoping the boy would pick up on his double meaning, he added, “It’s nothing to worry about. You’re fine.” 

“We’ve got you,” Young Noctis added. 

Young Prompto nodded, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in a shuddering sigh. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m okay. I’m good.” 

“Good,” Noctis repeated. He wound the gauze around Young Prompto’s wrist, hiding the barcode from view. The boy noticeably relaxed once it was covered, shifting so he could look around the van, though he stayed leaning against Young Noctis’s side. His eyes lingered on Adult Ignis and Noctis, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but gasped in pain instead as Young Ignis did something to his foot. 

“Apologies,” Young Ignis said. “This is going to be rather uncomfortable for a few minutes.” 

Young Noctis leaned forward to peer down at him over Young Prompto’s shoulder. “How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as it appears,” Young Ignis said. “But there's quite a bit of debris that needs to be cleaned out before I can bandage the foot.”

“I tried to get away,” Young Prompto said, his voice wavering and his eyes darting from Noctis to Young Ignis and Young Gladio as though afraid they would be mad at him for it. “I didn't know what to… I thought—”

“You did great,” Noctis assured him. “That's exactly what you do if a daemon grabs you. You fight back.”

Young Prompto nodded shakily, then made a tiny swallowed sound of pain, his whole body jerking. Young Ignis murmured another apology but didn't stop working on his foot. Young Noctis frowned, then untangled an arm from Young Prompto and dug his phone from his pocket. “Here, we can play a game or something.” The phone’s screen was dark, and he thumbed the power button, adding absently, “We had to turn off our phones when we picked up the van - we kept getting those Crownsguard alerts that ignore silent mode.” 

Noctis realized half a second before the phone came online what was about to happen, but it was too late. Sure enough, the phone rang the moment the screen flashed to life. Young Noctis frowned in annoyance. “It’s my dad,” he grumbled, and accepted the call. 

“Noctis?” Regis demanded, his voice tinny over the phone but loud and worried enough to be audible even though Young Noctis held the phone to his ear. “Son, where are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Young Noctis answered. He didn’t quite roll his eyes, but his tone made clear that he wanted to.

“Where are you?” Regis asked again. “The Crownsguard say you're not in your apartment, and no one can reach Ignis or Gladiolus either.”

Young Ignis looked abruptly guilty. So did Young Gladio, and for a second Noctis was thrown by how much emotion this younger version of his stoic, stony Shield showed on his face. Ignoring them both, Young Noctis said, “They're fine, they're here with me. We had our phones off.”

“So I noticed,” Regis said, dryness overcoming the worry for a moment. “For the third time, son, where are you?”

It was Young Noctis’s turn to look guilty, enough to break through the carefully-crafted air of teenage indifference. Noctis sighed, reached over, and plucked the phone from his younger self’s hand. Putting it on speaker, he said, “They're with us. We got them out of the Citadel when the alarms went off, just in case it was Ardyn. Speaking of which,” he added, before Regis could interrupt, “Ardyn went after Prompto - this time’s Prompto. Daemons broke into his house and trashed it, and more showed up in the factory district after we got him away from them. You’ll need to send Crownsguard to deal with them, and to protect the Argentums’ house.”

A long silent pause. Noctis could picture his dad's expression, the distant blankness he wore when he was especially upset. Finally Regis said, carefully calm, “I asked you and your companions to stay in the suite in the Citadel.”

“We did,” Noctis answered. “Then daemons attacked. It was clear the Citadel wasn't safe anymore.”

Regis sighed. “And you appear to have abducted my son during your escape.”

“They didn't abduct me,” Young Noctis cut in, offended. “We knew something was up, and _we_ went to find _them_.” 

“Nevertheless,” Regis said. “Noctis - _Prince_ Noctis - you need to return immediately. With daemons attacking the Citadel, we need to get you to a safe house. It’s too dangerous for you to be roaming about.”

“No!” Young Noctis said sharply. Everyone in the van looked at him in surprise - even Adult Prompto, blue eyes flicking up to the rearview for a second before turning back to the road. Even Young Noctis seemed startled by his own outburst, his mouth snapping shut.

Regis said, a little too calmly, “What did you say, son?” 

That familiar stubbornness settled over Young Noctis’s face. “No,” he said to the phone. “Dad, I’m sorry, but I can’t go hide in a safehouse.” 

“Why not?” Regis asked. Noctis remembered that voice all too well, that tone that meant his dad was disappointed in him. Even all this time later, even knowing this wasn’t _his_ dad, not really, the sound of it made his stomach twist into guilty knots. 

If Young Noctis felt the same way, he didn’t show it. “They told me what happens,” he said, his voice getting louder and more upset as he spoke. “They told me about—about the real prophecy. What I have to do.” 

“Noct—” Regis started. 

Young Noctis cut him off. “If I only… if I only get two years—” He took a deep breath. “I’m not gonna spend them sitting in school or working a summer job. I’m gonna do whatever I can to _fix_ things.” 

“That’s not—” Regis tried.

“Luna _dies_ , Dad!” Young Noctis yelled into the phone. “ _You_ die. Insomnia’s destroyed. Iggy goes _blind._ If there’s _anything_ I can do to stop any of that, I have to _try!_ ” 

“Noct,” Young Ignis said sharply. He’d stopped working on Young Prompto’s foot and was staring at Young Noctis with concern in his eyes. 

Young Noctis flinched, looking down at Young Ignis. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard; Young Ignis put a hand on his knee. On the phone, Regis took advantage of the interruption to say, “Noct. I understand you’re upset, but—”

Young Noctis’s head whipped back to the phone. “No you _don’t_ ,” he snapped. “If you understood, you’d have _told_ me, you’d have told me the _truth—_ ” His voice hitched and he bit off whatever else he’d been about to say.

Silence from the phone for a long minute. Regis said quietly, “I’m sorry, son. You’re right, we should talk. Come to the safehouse, and we’ll—”

“No,” Young Noctis said. “I’m gonna fix this. _Then_ we’ll talk.” He took the phone from Noctis’s hand, his head bowed but his jaw set stubbornly. Over Regis’s protests, he said quietly, “Love you, Dad,” then hung up and powered down the phone.


	9. Leaving Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys leave Insomnia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a shipfic, I just believe these boys need all the hugs they can get.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

“That… was unexpected,” Young Ignis said carefully. 

Young Noctis looked up, though he didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” 

“No—” Young Gladio started.

Young Noctis cut him off. “Tell me I should just go sit in a _safehouse_ when Luna’s in danger? When Insomnia’s going to be wiped out? When I get _two years_ before I _die?!_ ” 

Young Prompto jerked around to stare at him, but Young Noctis didn’t seem to notice. He was glaring now, at Young Gladio and Young Ignis, his jaw set. 

Young Gladio held up his hands. “ _No_ ,” he repeated. “No, Noct. Cool it. I think you’re right.” 

“...Really?” Young Noctis asked, clearly startled. 

Noctis caught Adult Gladio’s gaze in the rearview, seeing his own amusement reflected in his Shield’s eyes. They hadn’t agreed on anything at that age - Noctis too caught up in worry for his father and his future to be the Crown Prince Gladio wanted him to be, Gladio not yet able to see through the mask of indifference he used to hide it. 

“Yeah,” Young Gladio said. “I ain’t real fond of what they had to say, either.” He jerked his head at the adults. “Cosmogony or not, we oughta do what we can.” 

Down on the floor of the van, Young Ignis frowned, probably aware that he would be outvoted on the subject if he spoke up. He opted to say nothing instead, bending his head over Young Prompto’s feet and resuming his first aid. Young Noctis watched him warily for a few seconds; when he continued to say nothing, Young Noctis said, “Ignis… if you want, we can drop you off. You don’t have to come—”

“Of course I do,” Young Ignis cut him off. The irritation in his voice didn’t quite hide the tremor in it, and though he didn’t look up, Noctis saw the glance he shot toward Adult Ignis from under his bangs. He swallowed, but added, “If you’re going to run off to Astrals only know where, you’ll need my help.”

Relief flashed across Young Noctis’s face. “Wouldn’t last a day without you.”

Noctis snorted. “You have no idea.”

“Great,” Adult Prompto said from the front of the van. “So do we have a plan yet? I can’t keep circling the city forever.” 

Young Noctis looked suddenly nervous; clearly he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Noctis leaned around him to say, “Take us out to Cotisse Haven.”

Prompto frowned, meeting his eyes in the rearview. “Cotisse? That’s like… five hours away.” 

“Five hours would put it outside the city,” Young Gladio added uneasily. “Outside the Wall.” 

Right. None of the kids had been outside the Wall yet, except Young Noctis’s trip to Tenebrae. “We need to get out of the city,” Noctis said. “Ardyn’s on the loose, and if we stay here, innocent people are going to get caught in the crossfire.” 

“But it’s not safe out there,” Young Ignis protested. “Especially not at night. Daemons roam the countryside at night.” 

“Daemons are roaming the city right now,” Adult Ignis pointed out dryly. “The Wall clearly isn’t enough to prevent Ardyn from summoning daemons within its bounds. He was bold enough to make an attack on the Citadel - he’ll hardly stop there.” 

Something nagged at Noctis’s memory and he frowned. “Actually, I’m not sure he’s the one who brought the daemons to the Citadel,” he said. “He looked surprised when I mentioned it.”

“If not him, then who?” Adult Gladio asked. “Ain’t like we have anyone else running around the Crown City that can summon daemons like that.” 

“I don’t know,” Noctis admitted. “But if there _is_ someone else running around who can, it’s even more important that we get away. They may be targeting him.” He tilted his head toward Young Noctis, who looked startled, then concerned. 

Adult Ignis nodded. “I concur. We’ll spend the night at Cotisse Haven. By morning it’s possible the Crownsguard will have more information about the daemons at the Citadel, and we’ll be able to plan our next move.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Adult Prompto agreed. The van picked up speed, cutting sharply across several lanes of traffic as he steered them toward an exit. 

“So, uh…” Young Prompto said tentatively. “Can I ask what’s going on? Or I mean, if this is top-secret royal stuff, that’s okay too, I just… I don’t know—” He looked up at Young Noctis. “You said you’re going to _die_ in two years and I…” 

Young Noctis flinched at the words and Young Prompto trailed off, fiddling uneasily with the gauze wrapped around his wrist. Noctis caught his younger self’s eyes and raised an eyebrow; Young Noctis took a deep breath and said, “Right. No, it’s not top-secret. Or maybe it is but I don’t care, you need to know too.” He gestured at the adults. “That’s us. I mean, they’re us, literally. From about twelve years in the future.”

“Us…?” Young Prompto asked blankly. He looked from Noctis to Ignis, then up to Gladio at the front of the van. His eyes widened as he recognized Prompto in the driver’s seat.

Prompto lifted a hand in a wave that would have looked casual to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Noctis did. “Hey.” 

“Oh,” Young Prompto said. “Um.”

“It’s pretty crazy,” Young Noctis said. “They showed up last night—” 

Noctis tuned him out, not really interested in listening to the recap of the horror show that was his life for the third time in twenty-four hours. At least the explanation kept Young Prompto distracted as Young Ignis finished cleaning and bandaging his feet. He had to pause when they reached the massive portal at the city’s exit, falling silent so Prompto and Gladio could have a conversation with the royal guard manning the checkpoint. 

Fortunately, Regis apparently hadn’t thought they would try to leave the Crown City; the guard only had a few questions which Prompto and Gladio lied their way through with disconcerting ease. It probably helped that they were both wearing Kingsglaive uniforms, driving a Kingsglaive van, but the Prompto Noctis remembered had been a terrible liar. 

The guard waved them through the checkpoint and they passed into the long tunnel through the physical wall that supplemented the strength of the magical one. The four kids stayed silent as darkness wrapped the van, Young Prompto curling tighter against Young Noctis’s side, Young Gladio leaning forward with one arm half-raised as though preparing to summon his shield at any moment. In the driver’s seat, Prompto flicked on the daemon-repelling high beams, and a moment later the claustrophobic darkness of the tunnel fell away to the broad, starry darkness of Lucis at night. 

Not that they could see much of it, thanks to the lack of windows in the tactical van. Though the kids tried to lean forward enough to peer through the windshield, the headlights illuminated nothing but the long bridge across the channel that separated the island of Insomnia from the rest of Lucis. Eventually Young Noctis began talking again, picking up the explanation of the adults’ presence and the future which awaited them. 

When he finished, Young Prompto sat in silence for a minute or two, his eyes wide. Finally he said quietly, “That… that really sucks.” 

Noctis gave a low laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

“Isn’t there something you can do?” Young Prompto demanded. “I mean, if you’re here in the past… can’t you _change_ it?” 

Adult Prompto had said the same thing yesterday night in the Citadel, and again Noctis felt that traitorous little flutter of hope. “We don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m going to try,” Young Noctis said, and waved a hand vaguely at the road beyond the windshield. “I want to… to do whatever I can to make it better. Maybe the prophecy really is unbreakable, maybe I really do have to…” His voice hitched and he swallowed hard before continuing. “But at least before that, I can try to fix everything else. Save Luna. Stop the Empire from destroying Insomnia. _Something._ ” 

“Of course,” Ignis interjected, “there remains the problem of Ardyn Izunia - the one from our time, who attacked you.” He nodded toward Young Prompto. “We’ve no idea what he’s planning, if he’s planning anything at all.” 

“You think he’s just fucking around?” Gladio asked. Young Ignis scowled at him and he winced. “Sorry. _Screwing_ around.” 

Noctis rolled his eyes at Young Ignis, realizing a second later that his younger self had done the exact same thing. “I’m making the royal decree right now that swearing is fine,” Noctis said. “We’re all adults here, or close enough.” 

Gladio snorted. Young Ignis made the face he used when he was trying very hard not to make any face at all, which resulted in him mostly looking annoyed. Adult Ignis was doing the same thing, but he was much better at it. He said to Gladio, “Yes. Ardyn doesn’t appear to have planned this jaunt to the past any more than we did. While he’s highly intelligent and very adaptable, his goal depends on us being in the correct time. If he’s going to try to do anything, it will be to return us to our own time.” 

“Then why attack Prompto?” Young Noctis asked. 

“A hostage, probably,” Noctis said. “Leverage to get me to cooperate.” Or just to hurt Noctis. Ardyn had made clear he wanted to torment Noctis before they both died, and hurting Prompto seemed to be his method of choice. But Noctis wasn’t going to say that, either to Young Prompto who didn’t know how bad it could be, or to Adult Prompto, who did. Instead, he caught Young Prompto’s eye. “So you did the right thing by breaking away from him like that.” 

The kid ducked his head into Young Noctis’s shoulder, not quite managing to hide the blush that colored his cheeks behind his freckles. “Next time I’ll punch him or something,” he muttered.

“It does mean we’ll need to be extra cautious,” Ignis warned. “Ardyn knows he can use Prompto - either of them - to get a reaction from Noctis.” Young Prompto shivered and Young Noctis pulled him closer against his side; up in the front of the van, Gladio gripped Adult Prompto’s wrist over the barcode again. 

“We’ll be safe at the haven,” Noctis said, hoping he sounded reassuring. “Ardyn’s a daemon - he can’t get to us there.” 

Ignis nodded. “We’ll rest tonight, and make further plans in the morning.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. The van settled into silence, the steady rumble of the engine and the whisper of tires on pavement lulling first Young Noctis, then Young Gladio and Young Ignis, to sleep. Young Prompto pressed further into Young Noctis’s side, trembling; belatedly Noctis realized the boy was still wearing nothing but threadbare pajama pants. The Leide desert got cold at night - no wonder he was shivering. Noctis unfastened his outer mantle and pulled it from his shoulders, then draped it over Young Prompto. The kid flashed him a grateful smile, curling tight under the heavy fabric. A minute later, he too was sound asleep. 

* * *

Several hours later, Noctis jolted awake as the van turned off the smooth pavement onto the bumpy gravel of the narrow trail a few miles beyond Hammerhead that passed for the road to Cotisse Haven. The others woke up, too, murmuring in surprise and confusion for a moment before the kids remembered where they were and what was going on. It was still most of an hour from Hammerhead out to Cotisse, and Young Noctis dozed off again, but the other boys stayed awake, peering anxiously out the windshield at the flashes of desert illuminated by the bouncing headlights. 

Finally Prompto pulled the van to a stop between the tall boulders that marked the ramp up to Cotisse Haven. As the van’s bright headlights died, the softer blue glow of the haven’s runes filled the night. Noctis opened the back door of the van and jumped down to the sand, stretching. Being thirty sucked - five hours on the unforgiving bench seat had made his back and butt ache in ways they never had at twenty. 

Adult Ignis, Young Ignis, and Young Gladio followed him out, the kids staring around in a combination of unease and awe. Except for the soft light of the haven, it was completely dark in a way the Crown City never was, stars spilling like glitter across the night sky. 

“Whoa,” Young Gladio breathed, turning slowly as he took it all in. 

“Man,” Adult Prompto said wistfully, coming around from the front of the van. “I’d forgotten what stars looked like.”

“Pretty incredible,” Adult Gladio agreed. He ducked around the open van door and motioned for Young Prompto to climb onto his back. “Here, hop on.” 

“I can walk,” Young Prompto said indignantly. 

“On cut-up bare feet across a bunch of sand filled with bugs and scorpions?” Gladio asked.

Young Prompto recoiled so hard he fell back against Young Noctis behind him. “Okay! Point taken. Piggyback ride it is.” 

Gladio grinned as Young Prompto settled onto his back, arms wrapped around his neck, Noctis’s mantle flapping behind him like a cape. Young Noctis followed them up the ramp to the raised stone of the haven, asking if there really were scorpions out here while Gladio laughed. Young Gladio and Young Ignis hurried after their prince, while Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis brought up the rear. 

Setting up camp was easy, the motions familiar despite the forgotten ten years since they’d roamed the Lucian countryside together. Tent, chairs, warm fire burning in the center of the stone. The gear was a decade older, hard-used by his friends, but Ignis had kept it in good repair. It still smelled of salt water and old smoke and the fog that clung stubbornly to the waters between Leide and Insomnia, the memory of what was supposed to have been Noctis’s last camp with his friends before facing his death. 

But instead of dying, he’d fallen into the past. Young Prompto’s words from earlier echoed in his mind: _can’t you change it?_ Noctis didn’t want to hope - didn’t dare hope, for fear he’d lose his nerve entirely when they returned to the present and that hope was proven futile - yet he couldn’t deny the idea was tantalizing. 

Futile or not, though, it was a thought for tomorrow. He’d burned a lot of energy tonight, first in flying out to Prompto’s house, then in running after the daemons and fighting Ardyn; and his nap in the van had done little to revitalize him. His younger self had already retreated to the tent with Young Prompto, and Noctis decided they’d had the right idea. He yawned, knuckles brushing Ignis’s arm as he stretched. “I’m gonna sleep,” he announced. 

“Sounds good,” Gladio said. “I got first watch. Prompto?”

“Yeah, fine,” Prompto said around a yawn of his own. “I’ll take second.” 

A slight frown furrowed Ignis’s forehead, but he didn’t speak up. Noctis couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything to the fact that Gladio hadn’t asked Ignis to help with the watches. Sure, Ignis might be blind, but he was as aware of his surroundings as any of them. It might have just been Noctis’s imagination, but he thought there was a new distance between Ignis and Gladio. It wasn’t as obvious as the new closeness between Gladio and Prompto - Noctis couldn’t even put his finger on what was making him think it was there - but it was something he’d have to watch for.

“We’ll help, too,” Young Gladio spoke up, interrupting Noctis’s thoughts. His arms were folded and he wore the stubborn expression Noctis knew all too well. 

Gladio and Prompto traded a speaking look. “We can handle it,” Gladio said. 

“Nevertheless,” Young Ignis said. “We’d prefer to help.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes on each watch,” Adult Ignis said diplomatically. “Besides, fitting seven in the tent will be difficult.”

“Six ain’t gonna be much better,” Gladio pointed out, but sighed. “Fine. You’re with me,” he said, pointing to Young Ignis. Then, to his younger self, “You’re with Prompto.” 

They nodded. As Gladio gave them a quick rundown of how the watches would work, Noctis waved goodnight and headed into the tent, Ignis right behind him. Young Noctis and Young Prompto were already inside, curled together against one wall like puppies, apparently asleep. Ignis stretched out against the other wall and Noctis sprawled beside him. After the way the four of them had slept piled together last night, it didn’t feel strange at all when Ignis rested an arm across Noctis’s stomach, his hand over Noct’s heart as though to reassure himself Noctis was still alive. 

Prompto and Young Gladio climbed into the tent next. Young Gladio settled near the other two kids, leaving a narrow strip of floor for Prompto. Prompto laid down carefully in between Young Gladio and Noctis, huddled in on himself like he was trying not to touch either of them. Noctis reached across the space between them and poked Prompto’s shoulder. “Get over here, dumbass,” he murmured. 

“I’m fine,” Prompto said. 

Noctis poked him again and held out his arm pointedly. Prompto rolled his eyes. “I gotta go on watch in a few hours. Can’t do that if I have a Noctopus clinging to me.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” Noctis answered. 

Prompto tried to glare at him, but a smile tugged at his mouth. He scooted over, pressing his back against Noctis’s chest as Noctis wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Noct closed his eyes, settling into his friends’ warmth. Maybe they could change destiny. Maybe they couldn’t. But the Stars had granted Noctis this extra time with his friends - his brothers - and while it would never make up for the ten years they’d lost, it was more than he could hope for. 

He wasn’t going to let it slip away again.


	10. Clone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has a talk with his future self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added chapter headings so it's clear who's narrating each chapter. Is that useful, or are they just in the way?

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

Prompto woke up to the scent of Noct’s fancy shampoo and the brush of Noct’s breath against his throat. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost pretend they were sprawled on the floor of Noct’s apartment, that they’d fallen asleep there after a long night of gaming. But past the shampoo was the scent of old smoke and stale sweat, and other unknown, unpleasant things. It wasn’t plush carpet beneath him, but a worn sleeping bag over hard stone. The fabric draped over him wasn’t one of Noct’s soft blankets, but the heavy wool mantle of a royal suit. The air wasn’t the comfortable temperature of the climate-controlled apartment, but hot and dry and uncomfortably close. 

He wasn’t in Noct’s apartment. He wasn’t in Insomnia at all. 

He kept his eyes closed for a minute longer, breathing in the scent of Noctis’s hair as he tried not to have a full-on panic attack. Last night’s events played through his head: the initial fear of burglars when he’d heard his front door crash open, the abject terror when a gang of monsters - daemons - had smashed into his bedroom and snatched him up. The pain of bouncing in their grip like a sack of potatoes, their flailing fists slamming into him, his feet dragging on concrete as he fought to escape. The icy cold of the daemon-man’s - Ardyn Izunia’s - hands on his throat, his wrist, the press of the man’s body against Prompto’s back. The contempt in his voice when he’d said _such an empty little thing._

Prompto shuddered. He wanted it to have been a dream, a nightmare, something he could wake up from, but he’d woken up and he wasn’t in his own bed. He was in a tent somewhere in the Lucian countryside, with his best friend and his best friend’s bodyguards and their freaking _future selves_ , because being kidnapped out of his own bed by daemons wasn’t horrifying enough. 

If it couldn’t be a nightmare, then he wanted to stay where he was forever, with Noct wrapped around him in his sleepy-clingy way, with at least the illusion of safety inside the tent. Hiding his face like a kid, like if he couldn’t see the scary thing it couldn’t see him. But he couldn’t stay there, not forever. Even if the oppressive heat hadn’t made breathing difficult, even if his whole body didn’t ache from the bruises from where he’d been grabbed and carried... he had too many questions roiling around in his mind. 

Ardyn Izunia, and _such an empty little thing. There’s so many more where it came from._ Their future selves. The future Noctis, terrifying and powerful and apparently fully aware of the barcode tattooed on Prompto’s wrist. 

He’d said it was nothing to worry about - did he know what it was? What it meant? Prompto himself didn’t know anything more than what his parents told him, which was that it meant he was a war orphan. They hadn’t said from where, what country would stamp orphaned children like products in a grocery store, though it wasn’t that hard to guess. Prompto had never actually asked them, because if he was from Niflheim, the country everyone hated, the country hell-bent on destroying his home, he didn’t want to know. 

But apparently Future Noctis knew. Did the others, Future Ignis and Future Gladio, know? Prompto’s own future self was with them, so maybe not. Or maybe… 

Prompto bit his lip, sharp enough that he tasted blood, and pressed his face harder into Noctis’s hair. He had to go out there. He had to find out. He just… needed a second. 

But the air in the tent wasn’t getting any cooler, and his bones ached from the hard ground, last night’s bruises making themselves known. He reluctantly disentangled himself from Noctis and sat up. 

Dim green sunlight filtered through the tent walls, illuminating a small mountain with an eagle tattoo and the silver-black vest of the Kingsglaive: Future Gladio, sprawled in the middle of the tent, sound asleep. Past him, Future Noctis mirrored Noct, sleeping with his head on his arm and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked a lot less scary like that. Prompto swallowed a hysterical giggle - it was probably illegal or something to think that a king of Lucis looked _doofy_.

The tent flap was unzipped but hanging closed, soft voices drifting through as the edges of the flap swayed with a breeze that didn’t quite make it inside the tent. Prompto did a quick mental tally: both Ignises must be outside, along with Young Gladio and Prompto’s future self. He really wished one of the Noctises was awake - even the scary future version - and that maybe there was one fewer Ignis, but he could deal with it. It was his own future self he needed to talk to, anyway. 

Crawling on his bruised knees hurt, but standing on his scraped-up feet as he climbed out of the tent wasn’t any better. The sun was blinding bright and he squinted, one hand rising to shield his eyes. Was the sun ever this bright in Insomnia? It was weird, looking up at the sky and not seeing the familiar shimmer of the Wall. He tugged the black mantle tighter around his shoulders, its heavy heat preferable to both the sharp bite of the sun overhead on his bare skin, and walking around with nothing on but his pajama pants. Figures he’d be kidnapped while wearing one of his oldest and rattiest pairs. 

“Good morning,” Future Ignis called. 

Prompto blinked, willing his eyes to adjust until he could make out Ignis and Future Ignis standing side by side at a small fold-out table to one side of the big haven rock. They had apparently been sorting through a small pile of something that might have been vegetables, but washed-out and sickly pale. Future Ignis had his head tilted slightly toward Prompto, though his gaze behind his mirrored glasses was focused somewhere on the middle distance, and, right. Noct had said he was blind in the future. Young Ignis, though, met Prompto’s eyes and nodded in greeting. “Good morning,” he repeated. “Noct is still asleep, I take it?”

Prompto nodded. 

“‘Course he is,” Gladio said. He was sitting in a canvas chair beside the low-burning coals that were all that was left of the fire, the hoodie he’d been wearing last night shucked to reveal a black muscle shirt with the Lucian crest embroidered over the heart. “I guess he’s not any better about sleeping in the future, either.” 

“Some things never change,” Future Ignis agreed. 

“That’s Noct for ya,” a new voice added. Prompto made himself look over at his future self, sprawled in another chair on Gladio’s far side, booted feet kicked out and face tilted back into the sun. He stretched, lazy as a cat, then sat up, his eyes finding Prompto’s for a moment before looking over at Future Ignis. “Iggy, any plans for breakfast?” 

“We’ve nowhere near enough in the armory for eight,” Future Ignis said, tapping the table beside the little pile. “If we want to eat, we’ll have to hunt for it.” 

“Hunt what?” Young Ignis asked, frowning. 

“There’s a herd of dualhorn roughly three-quarters of a mile that way.” Future Ignis pointed off to one side of the haven, though he didn’t turn his head; the effect was more than a little unnerving. “Perhaps you and Gladio could retrieve one.” 

The poleaxed expression on Ignis’s face was almost enough to offset the creepy thought of going out and killing something for breakfast. Intellectually, Prompto knew meat came from animals, but he’d always gotten meat from the grocery store, already well dead and packaged into neat cuts that made it easy to forget it had once been a living, breathing creature. 

From the look on Ignis’s face, he felt the same way, but after a couple of seconds he recovered enough to squint in the direction his future self was pointing. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure?” 

“When one loses the use of one sense,” Future Ignis said, his voice neutral, “one learns to pay more attention to those which remain.” 

Future Prompto snorted. “He can probably hear Takka cooking breakfast back at Hammerhead. If he says they’re there, they’re there.” 

Ignis shot a sideways look at his future self, his expression unreadable. Prompto couldn’t blame him; seeing his own future self was weird enough without knowing he’d be blind, too. 

Gladio, apparently unfazed by both Future Ignis’s ability to hear and the idea of killing breakfast, said, “What about Noct? I’m not just leaving him here alone.” 

“He’s hardly alone,” Future Ignis said mildly. “I daresay the other Gladio and I can protect him for the short time such a hunt will take.” 

“What about him?” Gladio asked, jerking a thumb at Future Prompto.

“I’m taking Mini-Me to the watershed,” Future Prompto said. “I wanna fill up our water, and he probably wants a shower.” 

Prompto blinked, caught off-guard as both Gladio and Ignis looked at him. “I’m fine,” he managed. 

“No, he has a point,” Ignis admitted. “We need the water, for one thing, and you need some real clothes, as well.” 

Prompto looked down at his pajama pants and winced. “Yeah, I, uh, I’d like that.” And he _did_ want to talk to his future self in private. Maybe future-him knew, and that’s why he was offering the trip. 

“I’ve got some spare clothes,” his future self said. “You want ‘em now or after the shower?” 

“Uh.” Prompto hesitated. Walking around the desert in his pajama pants didn’t sound appealing, but he’d never liked putting on the same clothes he’d been wearing before a shower afterwards. Especially not if they had to walk around the desert - he’d just get sweaty and gross. “After, I guess.” 

His future self stood up; blue magic shimmered around his hands and suddenly he held a pair of battered black boots. He tossed them to Prompto; caught off-guard again, Prompto fumbled them and they clattered to the ground. “They should fit,” Future Prompto said. “My feet haven’t changed size since I started high school.” 

Prompto eyed the boots uncertainly - they were scuffed and stained, the laces knotted and frayed - but Future Gladio’s comment last night about scorpions and bugs and sand rang through his mind. He stuffed his feet into the boots, trying not to think too hard about it. If they belonged to his future self, it was like they belonged to him, right? And they did fit like they belonged to him despite the bandages wrapping his feet, so maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. 

“C’mon,” Future Prompto said over his shoulder as he sauntered toward the ramp down the side of the haven. “It’s a twenty-minute walk out to the water tower and if we take too long we’re gonna get sunburned.” 

“Right,” Prompto said, and scrambled after him. 

They walked for a few minutes in silence, following a faint track along the sun-hardened ground. In the distance, Prompto could see a short, squat building with a peaked roof, probably their destination. His future self, despite what he’d said about sunburn, was walking at a lazy pace, his face tilted up to the sun again. Prompto trailed behind him, feeling awkward and unsure. How did you start a conversation with your future self, anyway? 

He picked at the gauze that wrapped his right wrist in place of the familiar green and white wristband Ardyn Izunia had sliced off. He couldn’t see his future self’s wrist; the crisp sleeves of his Kingsglaive uniform jacket covered it. The uniform looked surprisingly good on him. Prompto had never thought about joining the Kingsglaive, or even the Crownsguard, not seriously at least. The Crownsguard was for people like Gladio and Ignis, who’d trained since birth in all kinds of crazy fighting arts, who were muscular and powerful and brave. Prompto figured the former out-of-shape, shy kid who’d been too chicken to even talk to the other kids at school wouldn’t stand a chance.

No, Prompto had just planned to get through high school and find a job taking photos for magazines or something. Maybe see if Noctis wanted a royal photographer, though he’d known that was unlikely. Not that the Lucis Caelums didn’t have royal photographers, but like the Crownsguard, that was a prestigious role reserved for the country’s best. Not some nobody orphan with a barcode on his wrist. 

But apparently his future self had ended up a Kingsglaive. He looked _good_ , too - other than the unhealthy sunless pallor of his skin, which all four of the future adults had because apparently the sun went away in the future too, what the hell. But he was a couple of inches taller than Prompto, and while he was no Gladio, he’d filled out with muscle. Prompto’s own arms and legs were basically twigs, all skin and bone after a growth spurt he hadn’t planned for in his diet, and he felt constantly awkward and clumsy. His future self moved with easy confidence, the way Gladio did, the way the guards who followed Noctis everywhere did. 

As if sensing his scrutiny, Future Prompto met his gaze. His mouth quirked, a small expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “Go ahead,” he said. “Ask.”

“Ask what?” Prompto said, nerves making his voice less steady than he would have liked.

His future self waved a hand vaguely. “You have questions, right? Ask ‘em. It’ll be easier like that than if I just start babbling, you know?” 

“Uh, right,” Prompto said. He rubbed at the gauze over his tattoo, took a deep breath, and blurted, “Your Noctis knows, doesn’t he? About… about the…” He waved his wrist. “Does that… does that mean you know, too?” 

Future Prompto nodded. “Yeah.”

“So…” He almost couldn’t get the question out. He hadn’t thought he’d ever know the truth, and definitely hadn’t thought he’d learn it like this. “What is it? What does it mean?” He didn’t have to say _what am I?_ If anyone would understand, it was his future self. 

For a long moment Future Prompto said nothing, his gaze turned up toward the sky. Then he sighed and stopped walking, turning to meet Prompto’s eyes again. “You sure you want to know?” 

Prompto opened his mouth to say _Of course I’m sure_ , but the words didn’t come. Future Prompto wouldn’t be asking that if he didn’t think Prompto had a very good reason _not_ to want to know. Instead he asked, very quietly, “It’s… it’s bad, isn’t it.”

His future self didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Prompto swallowed hard, looking away, eyes skating over the bright yellow desert landscape without really seeing it. But there really was only one option he could choose. The barcode had haunted him his whole life; he couldn’t let it keep being a phantom holding him back. He said, “I’m sure. I want to know, even if it’s bad. _Especially_ if it’s bad.” 

Future Prompto started walking again. “Have you had that world history class yet, the one with, what’s his face, that one teacher who hated Noct?” 

Prompto frowned at the non-sequiter, hurrying to catch up. “Mr. Malazan? Yeah, we have him this year, why?” 

“Have you done the Niflheim module yet?”

“Yeah, last semester.” 

“So you know about the origin of MTs.” 

“Uh. I guess?” Prompto tried to remember what they’d covered. He hadn’t paid much attention to the lessons; he hadn’t thought he would ever need it, for one, and for two the whole idea of robot soldiers wigged him out. It wasn’t fair, Niflheim fighting with robots they could build and replace, while Lucis had to send humans to fight and die. “They were first created like thirty years ago by some Niff scientist, but didn’t start showing up in combat for another ten years or so.” 

His future self nodded. “Thirty-two years ago from now. Forty-four from my time. The name of the scientist was Verstael Besithia. They didn’t show you a picture of him in class, did they?” 

“They did, but it was some old grainy thing,” Prompto said. “All I remember was he was bald on top and kinda spotty. Why are you asking about this?” He wanted his future self to get to the point. 

Future Prompto snorted. “Spotty,” he muttered, and shook his head. He held out a hand; blue magic shimmered between his fingers and suddenly he held a small, battered notebook. Prompto watched in amazement - even Noct didn’t use the magic of the royal Lucis armory that freely, and it was strange to see his future self treat it with the casualness of reaching into a pocket. Future Prompto handed him the notebook. “Take a look.” 

Prompto frowned at him, but flipped through the book. The pages were covered with his own neat handwriting, and various newspaper clippings and photos had been wedged in between. Most of the handwritten blurbs were marked with the words “Transcript”, dates - all between ME 757 and 763 - and strings of letters that might have been abbreviated place names. The newspaper clippings were much older, dating back to 721, mostly from Niflheim and talking about Besithia and the production of magitek troopers. 

Then he flipped a page and found a photo of himself staring back. 

Except it wasn’t him. For a second he thought it was his older self instead, but that wasn’t right, either. The man in the photo was probably in his mid- to late forties, his blond hair fading to grey around the edges, his freckles turning into age spots above his beard. His outfit was ostentatious, brightly colored with a tall collar and broad shoulder pads, and matched the arrogance in his expression. 

Prompto looked up at his older self in horror. “Who…?”

“Verstael Besithia,” Future Prompto answered shortly. His eyes had gone dark and shuttered, the way Noct’s did the rare few times someone mentioned the daemon attack he’d suffered as a child. 

“But…” Prompto looked at the picture again, then up at his future self. They were damn near identical save for age. Even Gladio didn’t look that much like his dad. “He’s - he looks like—” 

“Yeah,” Future Prompto said. “Noct mentioned where daemons come from, right? Last night?” Prompto nodded, not trusting his voice. Future Prompto continued, his voice flat, “Besithia needed daemon miasma to power his MTs. But using regular daemons was dangerous and they couldn’t capture enough anyway, and when he tried using people who were in the process of turning, _that_ didn’t work either because of something he called ‘ego death’. So he figured, why not use babies? They don’t have egos.” 

His voice was bitter and sharp enough to cut, and Prompto flinched. His future self noticed and took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in, before continuing. “He cloned himself. He eventually figured out a way to speed up the babies’ aging without actually letting them develop as people enough to have egos. But before he did… some Lucian spy stole one of those cloned babies.” 

Prompto stared at his future self, horror curdling his stomach; he was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. “That was—You mean—we were—”

Future Prompto nodded. “We were just one of thousands of clones meant to be infected with Starscourge and harvested for daemon miasma to power MTs.” He reached out and flipped the pages in the notebook Prompto’d forgotten he held, stopping on a page that had nothing but a photo taped to it.

A photo of tall narrow glass tubes, each one holding Prompto. _A_ Prompto, a clone, one of many in a row, each with Prompto’s face and a barcode stamped on its right wrist.

“I was taking photos of every room I went into,” Future Prompto said tonelessly. “I figured the intel might be useful. I didn’t realize what I was looking at until after I took the shot.” 

The world swayed and for a second Prompto had to focus on staying upright, on not collapsing to the hard desert rock and throwing up or passing out or screaming. The notebook fell from his fingers, shattering into blue crystal light before it could hit the ground. “But… but…” 

Future Prompto said nothing. When Prompto looked up, his future self was staring at him, his expression grim. Prompto managed, “Noctis - your Noctis - knows? He _knows?!_ And Gladio and Ignis?” 

Last night, in the van, Future Noctis had said, _It’s nothing to worry about. You’re fine._

Except Future Noctis had been wrong. How could Prompto be fine, how could he ever be fine again when he was—was _that?!_

His future self just nodded, and said softly, “They don’t care. They’re—It’s rare, people that good.”

“Does anyone else know? In the future?”

Future Prompto’s expression darkened and he gripped his own right wrist. “Everyone.” At Prompto’s horrified look, he added grimly, “Ardyn thought it would be fun to spread the news.” He met Prompto’s gaze, eyes cold and sharp and deadly. “He’s probably gonna do it again. He hates Besithia damn near as much as he hates Noctis, and Besithia’s dead in my time, so guess who he’s taking it out on. The guys are okay—” with a tilt of his head back toward the haven to indicate Noct and Gladio and Ignis— “but from now on, you don’t turn your back on anyone. Not strangers. Not people you think are friends.” His eyes closed for a moment, his fingers tightening around his wrist so hard the leather of his glove creaked. “ _Especially_ not people you think are friends.” 

Prompto shivered. Despite the desert heat, a chill had seeped down into his bones, one he doubted any amount of sun or warmth could dispel. It was too much to take in all at once, too much to process, to understand. He couldn’t think, the photos of Verstael Besithia, of the clones in their tubes - _him_ in a tube, hairless and placid and stamped with a barcode like the property he’d been created as - spinning through his brain. He doubled over, hands on his knees, breathing hard like he’d just finished a run, like he’d pushed himself past his physical limits only this time it was his mental limits, his ability to comprehend his own freaking _existence_ , not who he was but _what_ he was— 

His future self hooked an arm around his shoulders, jolting him back to awareness. “Sorry,” Future Prompto said ruefully. “I didn’t…” He sighed. “I fucked this up. You need to know, but… it’s a lot to take in at once.” 

That startled a laugh out of Prompto, watery and maybe a little more hysterical than he’d have liked. “A lot. Yeah.”

“C’mon,” his future self said, and ruffled his hair. “Let’s get to that water shed before we both get burned crispier than the steak when Noct’s cooking.” 

Prompto snorted another almost-laugh, nearly choking on the hysteria before he wrangled himself under control. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay.” 


	11. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Prompto learns secrets about all their adult selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four dudes on a camping trip with very limited funds, sharing tents, campers, and hotel rooms, is gonna lead to some Awkward™ situations.
> 
> Those situations are a lot funnier ten years later when you’re telling the story to someone else.

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

By the time they got to the little metal shed, Prompto was sweating under his borrowed wool mantle, and he was pretty sure he was starting to get a sunburn. Or heatstroke. His head ached from the heat and his throat was painfully dry, and he reached for the door of the shed, hoping to get inside and away from the relentless sun. 

But Future Prompto beat him to it, catching him by the shoulder and pulling him away. “Hang on,” he said, then banged hard on the metal wall beside the door. The sound rang across the desert and Prompto flinched, but his future self leaned in closer, his eyes unfocusing as he listened for something inside. Finally Future Prompto nodded, mostly to himself, and shoved open the door. “C’mon.” 

“What was that about?” Prompto asked as he followed his adult self into the shed. The interior was dark after the unforgiving glare of the desert sun; the only light came from the sunlight leaking around the edges of the door and through a single dirt-crusted skylight in the middle of the ceiling. Squinting, he could just make out a hand pump in one corner and a narrow pipe on the wall behind it, capped with a calcium-encrusted showerhead. The floor was hard concrete, slanted unevenly inward to a rusted drain in the center. 

“Voretooths,” Future Prompto said. He pointed up toward the ceiling, to uneven gaps where the metal walls didn’t quite connect with the slanted roof. “I’ve never been sure if those holes are supposed to be for ventilation or if it’s just bad construction, but voretooths can sometimes wiggle through ‘em. They can smell the water in here. But once they’re in, they’re too dumb to get back out. Learned that the hard way the first time I opened the door and got jumped.” 

He grinned, as though getting jumped by freaking _wild animals_ was amusing. Prompto stared at him. His future self’s grin widened and he thumped Prompto lightly on the shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Really.” 

Prompto glared at him. “Getting mauled by voretooths isn’t bad?” 

Future Prompto made fingerguns and mimed shooting something in the face, then blew imaginary smoke from his fingertips. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “You’ll get used to it.” 

Prompto was still trying to come up with a response to that which wasn’t sputtering indignation or screaming horror - really? _Get used to_ being attacked by monsters? - when his future self squatted beside the hand pump and gave it a cursory once-over. “Good to go,” he pronounced. “I’ll take first shower, unless you want it. First has better water pressure, second’s usually cooler ‘cause the water’s coming up from deeper.” 

“Sure,” Prompto said. Cooler water sounded great. He’d been hoping for some relief from the heat inside the shed, but while they were out of the direct sunlight, it somehow felt even hotter inside. The air was heavy and still, difficult to draw into his lungs, and sweat was pooling in all the hollows of his bones. At least outside there’d been a light breeze to draw the heat away from his skin.

Future Prompto started working the pump, throwing his whole body into the first few motions until water began spurting from the faucet and the handle started to move on its own as the water pressure took over. When the stream had steadied into a constant flow, Future Prompto fiddled with a couple of turn handles on the side, and the flow diverted from the pump faucet up to the showerhead on the wall, spraying the center of the shed with water. Prompto hopped back out of range, while his future self stripped off his Kingsglaive jacket, gloves, and vest, plus the black undershirt beneath. Without bothering to remove his pants or boots, Future Prompto leaned forward into the spray, eyes closed against the water. 

Prompto took the moment to study his adult self. Lean muscle rippled through his shoulders and arms, under skin even more sickly pale than that of his face - though even twelve years in the future, he still had a scatter of freckles across his cheeks and down his shoulders. Scars marked his torso: a thin line along the top of his right shoulder; four jagged parallel lines that were obviously and horrifyingly claw marks curving around his left hip to vanish beneath the waistband of his pants; and a single round scar, roughly the size of a grape, just under his left shoulder blade. Without the gloves and jacket, his own barcode tattoo was clearly visible on his wrist, the black ink unfading, as vivid as it had been for as long as Prompto could remember. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Future Prompto remarked as he straightened out of the spray, shaking his head and sending water flying around the shed, “I missed the sun like _fuck_ these last ten years, but boy did I forget how hot it gets in Leide in the daylight.” He turned to face Prompto, absently snagging his vest from where he’d draped it over the pump and using it to wipe his face dry. 

Given how scarred his back was, Prompto wasn’t surprised to see his chest and stomach were equally damaged: more claws marks along his ribs; a jagged slash on his stomach just visible above his pants; a curved gouge near his collarbone; and a small round rough patch on his left pec, directly opposite the grape-sized scar on his back, right over his… 

Prompto blinked, his stomach plummeting. 

Right over his future self’s heart.

The little round scar on his back wasn’t the size of a grape _._ It was the size of a _bullet_. 

“That’s…” he whispered. 

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Future Prompto glanced down at his own chest and flinched, his expression darkening. His left hand rose to wrap around his right wrist, over the barcode. “That’s how I learned never to turn my back on anyone,” he said softly. “Even people I thought were my friends.” 

He’d said earlier that everyone knew about the barcode, what it meant, but he hadn’t said someone had—Prompto’s stomach roiled and he leaned forward, curling his arms around himself as everything from the last twenty-four hours hit him in a sudden awful rush. 

Yesterday he’d been nothing more than the weird kid at school with a passion for photography, a tattoo he couldn’t explain, and the friendship of the Crown Prince. Now he’d been kidnapped by daemons, rescued by Kingsglaive, and swept outside the safety of the Wall by his future self. He’d learned he was an inhuman freak, a lab experiment meant to be turned into a daemon and harvested to power MTs. _Such an empty little thing_ , Izunia had said last night. Prompto wasn’t a person, but an enemy weapon, something to be exterminated with a bullet to the heart. Someone had tried on his future self. Someone supposedly his friend. _I’m surprised you care_. _There are so many more where it came from._

The panic attack Prompto had managed to stave off last night roared back in full force and he staggered, would have fallen except his adult self caught him and held him up. He buried his face against Future Prompto’s shoulder, shaking, wanting to scream except he couldn’t get enough air. “I can’t—I’m not—I—” he gasped, and the words snapped something inside him and he wailed, “I want to go _home!_ ” 

His adult self didn’t answer, but the arms wrapped around him tightened. He didn’t need his future self to tell him he _couldn’t_ go home, not anymore. Even if Prompto returned to his house, it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

They stood there for several minutes, until Prompto’s sobs eased and he was able to stand on his own again. He scrubbed an arm over his face, acutely aware of how much of a mess he was and feeling all the worse for it. Noctis would never break down like this. Ignis and Gladio would probably laugh at Prompto if they saw him right now. He’d always been worthless and this just proved it. 

Future Prompto, though, just nudged him toward the still-running shower. “Water’s safe to drink, if you want,” he said gently. 

Prompto hiccupped, nodded. Cupped his hands under the spray and splashed his face with water, then filled his palms for a drink. The water was cold on his skin, soothing to his parched throat, and he stuck his head directly into the spray and drank until he felt slightly less awful.

When he came up for air, his adult self said, “It sucks. Not gonna pretend otherwise. But… there’s still a few good people out there. And Noctis needs you.” 

Prompto shuddered. “I’m not anyone,” he whispered. _I’m not even human,_ and he didn’t have to say it; saw the thought reflected in his adult self’s eyes. “Why me?” 

Future Prompto gave a soft, strange little laugh, turning away to stare up out through the dirty skylight. “He told me once he doesn’t make time for any old loser. I guess if the Crown Prince - the King - says you’re good enough, you are. No matter what anyone else thinks.” 

Prompto opened his mouth and closed it again, not sure what to say to that. His adult self looked back down, a wry smile tugging at his mouth, and jerked his chin at the water. “Better take that shower before the well runs dry,” he said. 

“...right,” Prompto whispered. He shivered again, not from cold - it was still baking hot in the little shed - but from all the emotions pounding beneath his skin. _Pull yourself together_ , he thought. “Yeah, okay.” 

Blue crystals sparkled in Future Prompto’s hand, forming into a bar of soap he tossed to Prompto. “I’ll dig up some clothes, too, when you're done.”

“Thanks,” Prompto managed. He started to tug the wool mantle from his shoulders, then stopped, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. Logically, there was no reason to be embarrassed to strip down in front of his adult self - there was literally nothing about his body Future Prompto hadn't already seen. But Prompto wasn't much happier with his knobby knees and bony elbows than he’d been with the soft rolls of his childhood pudge, and still had no desire to be naked in front of anyone. He looked back at his adult self - but Future Prompto had already turned around, humming under his breath and bobbing his head as he pulled on his black undershirt. Prompto almost laughed. Of course his future self would know he was uncomfortable. 

Well, Prompto could at least try not to make a bigger inconvenience of himself than he already had. He stripped off the mantle, his borrowed boots, and then his pajama pants, draping them over the pipes as Future Prompto had done earlier, and stepped into the water. The cold felt good on his overheated skin, washing away the tears on his face and easing the puffiness of his eyes. The soap smelled harsh and utilitarian, but worked just fine, and Prompto scrubbed off the dirt and blood from last night. The bruises on his torso were already a spectacular riot of purple, black, and blue; he could clearly see the imprint of the hand of the daemon that had carried him.

He didn't want to know if there was an imprint of Ardyn Izunia’s hand on his throat.

The water pressure had faded to a trickle by the time he finished. He eyed the pump, trying to guess how to turn it off properly, but his future self saved him. “I got that,” he said. “Gotta refill the water bottles anyway, or Iggy’ll kick my ass.” He crouched beside the pump, fiddling with the dials again until the thin stream of water came out of the faucet instead of the showerhead, and began filling Kingsglaive-issue bottles he pulled from the armory. 

While he did that, Prompto stepped off to the side and tried to scrape the remaining water from his body with his hands. Without a towel, it didn't work well, and eventually he gave up and just shook himself, then squeezed the water out of his hair. For a couple of seconds he almost felt cool despite the shed’s oppressive heat, as the bone-dry desert air evaporated the last of the moisture from his skin. 

“Here,” Future Prompto said, and Prompto turned to see him holding out a bundle of tan and red cloth, though he was still looking away. “They’ll be a little big, but workable. The underwear’s clean, I promise,” he added. “Trust me, you don't want to go commando in those pants in this desert. I have no idea how Gladio stands it.”

Prompto nearly dropped the clothes into the water pooled on the floor. “You—Ugh!” he sputtered. “That’s more than I _ever_ wanted to know about Gladio. Why do _you_ know that?!”

“We lived in each other's pockets for a few months after the Crown City fell,” his future self said with a shrug. “You learn a lot about each other doing that.”

Prompto yanked on the clothes as fast as he could, trying very hard not to think about the fact that it was someone else's underwear. Was it really someone else if that someone was him in the future? “You guys know about this thing called ‘privacy’, don’t you?” he asked.

His adult self laughed. “Oh, we know. You learn real fucking quick to knock before entering the tent or hotel room if you aren't one hundred percent positive where everyone else is. Even if you think you _are_ one hundred percent positive.”

It took a second for Prompto to realize what he meant. “Titan’s balls, dude!” he swore. “That’s so wrong!”

Future Prompto waggled his eyebrows. “Not _Titan’s_ balls.”

“Ew!” Prompto buried his face in his hands. “That is more than I want to know about _any_ of them.”

“Get used to it,” Future Prompto said loftily. “You make friends with the Crown Prince and his retainers, you get to learn all about the royal… _assets._ ”

“My future self hates me,” Prompto announced dramatically, hauling his borrowed boots back on - though the protest was somewhat weakened by the fact that Future Prompto had included socks with the bundle of clothes so Prompto wasn’t barefoot inside the combat boots anymore. “You’re trying to kill me with embarrassment.” 

“C’mon,” Future Prompto protested. “I can give you all kinds of dirt on the guys. Did you know Ignis shaves his—”

Prompto clapped his hands over his ears. “No, I don’t, and I don’t want to!” 

“You sure? It’s good blackmail material next time you want to get Iggy to go to Kenny Crow’s instead of making stew for the hundredth time—” 

“I'm leaving now,” Prompto announced. He scooped up his pajama pants and the borrowed mantle and stomped out the door without waiting for a response. “You're disgusting.” The brilliant sunlight blinded him and he flinched back before catching his balance. 

Future Prompto followed, eyes sparkling, until the sun hit his face and he actually stumbled against the doorframe. “Ow. Sunlight. Right.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and blinked a few times, then set out toward the haven. “Okay, here’s one that’s safer for your tender virgin ears—”

“ _Ugh!_ ”

“Did you know Gladio can sing?” Future Prompto said. “And I don’t just mean carry a tune - guy has _pipes._ If he hadn’t decided to be Noct’s Shield he could’ve been a headliner at the Altissia Opera House.” 

“Seriously?” Prompto asked in surprise. He didn’t know Gladio all that well yet, not nearly as well as his future self clearly did. Gladio had started accompanying Noct everywhere last year, as part of taking on full-time Shield duties when he turned twenty, but stayed in the background and didn’t talk much around Prompto. Prompto’d thought it was because Gladio disapproved of the Crown Prince’s friendship with a nobody. 

“Seriously,” Future Prompto confirmed. “Get a little beer in him and he’ll break your heart with the best rendition of ‘Every Day Gone By’ from _Beloved_ you’ve ever heard. A few years back, he was visiting Hammerhead when this group of hunters passed through. One of ‘em was an ex-opera singer, and someone talked her and Gladio into doing some fancy piece from this two hundred-year-old opera. My Altissian’s not good enough to understand the lyrics, but they sounded fucking incredible.” 

“...Okay, that’s pretty cool actually,” Prompto admitted. 

“Told ya.” His adult self grinned. “There was this other time, shit, way back in Insomnia. Probably would’ve been this summer for you. Me ‘n Noct were out at the arcade, and Gladio was tagging along ‘cause, y’know, Shield, and…” He kept talking, telling stories about first Gladio and then Ignis and Noctis as they made their way across the desert. The horrors of Prompto’s origin and what had happened to his future self still sat like iron weights at the back of his thoughts, but the distraction worked, and by the time they reached the haven, Prompto was laughing. 


	12. By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of their situation hits Young Noctis and Young Ignis.

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

When Prompto and his adult self climbed the ramp up to the top of the haven, they found a weirdly domestic scene. Future Ignis stood at the little camp stove, chopping vegetables with a deftness that belied his inability to see, while beside him Young Gladio carved raw steaks into kebab-sized chunks and slid them onto tarnished and battered metal skewers. Prompto’s stomach growled, and Future Prompto chuckled. “Successful hunt, huh?” he called toward Future Ignis.

“Indeed,” Future Ignis said. “You’ve excellent timing; we just returned ourselves. Breakfast will be ready in perhaps twenty minutes.”

“Great!” Future Prompto said, then glanced around. “Where’s everyone else?” 

“Disposing of the offal,” Future Ignis said. “Would one of you please wake His Majesty and His Highness?” 

“Go for it, bud,” Future Prompto said to Prompto with a grin that said he knew full well he was throwing him under the bus. 

Prompto rolled his eyes in response and ducked into the tent; he knew he’d need the full twenty minutes to get even one Noct awake, much less two of them. The older one was now sprawled across half the tent floor, his breath whistling faintly through his half-open mouth. Prince Noctis - Prompto’s Noct - was still curled in a tight ball against the other side of the tent. Prompto dropped his bundle of pajama pants and woolen mantle on the floor, then crouched beside him, reaching out one hand. He’d intended to shove Noct’s shoulder the way he usually did to wake him, but suddenly found himself unable to make contact. 

Prompto was a freak, a science experiment intended to be nothing more than fuel for the Niflheim Empire’s war machine. Noctis was the Crown Prince of Lucis, the primary target of that war machine. Future Prompto had said Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio didn’t care about Prompto’s origins, but from the sound of it Future Prompto had known them all for more than two years longer at the time they’d found out. Gladio barely spoke to Prompto, and Ignis was polite but distant. What if the three years Prompto had known Noctis wasn’t enough? What if something important had happened in those remaining two years that made the difference between _he’s our friend_ and _ditch the freak_? What if— 

A hand wrapped around Prompto’s outstretched arm and tugged him off-balance to fall against Noct’s chest. Prompto grunted in surprise and looked up, but Noct’s eyes were still closed. His arm wrapped around Prompto, though, pulling him close enough that Prompto could feel his heartbeat, his breath rustling Prompto’s hair, both rapid and unsteady enough that he knew Noct was awake. 

He squirmed uncertainly, trying to untangle his legs from beneath him even as part of his mind still wanted to pull away and avoid contaminating the Crown Prince any further. “Noct…” 

“Shut up,” Noctis murmured. A hesitation, then he added nervously, “It’s not - Carbuncle isn’t here, and I just…” 

_Oh._ Apparently Prompto wasn’t the only one to wake up to a panic attack after what had happened last night. He wriggled into a more comfortable position and got an arm around Noctis in return, tucking his head under Noct’s chin. “Okay.” 

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, until Noct’s heartbeat slowed and his grip on the back of Prompto’s shirt eased. But even that little motion was enough to set Prompto’s own anxiety off again. If Noctis found out what he really was, would he even want to touch Prompto anymore? 

Without meaning to, Prompto blurted, “I’m… I’m really your friend, right?” 

“Of course you’re my friend, idiot,” Noctis said. He pulled back a little, which made Prompto tense up even more, but it was only to give him an incredulous look. “Where’d that come from?”

Prompto shook his head, already regretting the words. “It’s nothing, I mean, I…” 

“Prompto,” Noctis cut in. “We’re _cuddling._ If you were any more my friend it would be a front-page scandal in the _Insomnia Times_.” 

Prompto giggled despite himself. “Dude, I’m pretty sure the part where the Crown Prince ran away from home and went outside the Wall is the bigger scandal right now.” 

“Ran away _with_ my friend I’m cuddling with,” Noctis teased. “This is going to be even bigger than when Lord Manufestaria got caught _in flagrante delicto_ with his daughter’s nanny. Front page headlines, scrolling banner on TV, top of everyone’s news feeds. Maybe they’ll even bring back hawkers on the street corners.” 

“Titan’s ba—” Prompto started to swear, then remembered the conversation back in the water shed and choked on the words. “Augh,” he groaned, and buried his face against Noct’s shoulder. 

“What?” Noctis asked, then prodded Prompto in the ribs when he didn’t respond. “ _What_?”

“Let’s just say my future self has ruined that swear forever,” Prompto muttered. 

Noctis smirked. “Good. You don’t sound nearly as edgy as you think you do when you say it.” 

“Hey, I’m plenty edgy!”

“Sure,” Noctis shot back. “That’s why you stole cuss words from Skynner from _Dungeon Delvers_.” 

“Busted.” Prompto put the back of his hand to his forehead in his best woe-is-me pose. “You got me. All my coolness comes from imitating video game characters.” 

Noctis laughed, and suddenly everything was okay again, at least right now. Prompto was still Noct’s friend, and Noct trusted him enough to be a replacement for the little Carbuncle figurine he kept under his pillow. They’d be okay. _He’d_ be okay. 

He nudged Noctis. “Anyway, Ignis - Future Ignis, the scary one - sent me in here to wake you and future-you up for breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Noctis sat up. 

Prompto grinned and made a shooing motion. “Go. I still have to wake up future-you.” 

“Good luck.” With that, Noctis climbed over him and out of the tent. 

Waking up Future Noctis wasn’t much different than waking up Noctis on a more typical day. Future Noctis groaned, swatted Prompto’s hand away, and tried to burrow under nonexistent covers before finally sitting up and blinking blearily. As much as he’d grown up to look like King Regis, he still acted like the laid-back, doofy prince Prompto knew. It was weirdly reassuring. 

By the time Prompto cajoled Future Noctis out of the tent, the others had settled around the embers of the campfire in the middle of the haven. The Noctises each got one of the four folding chairs by dint of being royalty, while Future Gladio had taken a third chair with Future Prompto perched precariously on his knee. Gladio stood stiffly behind Noct’s seat, hands folded behind his back like he was at an official function instead of a campground, while Ignis helped his older counterpart remove finished kebabs from the grill. 

Prompto hesitated, finally deciding to sit on the ground and use Noctis’s legs as a back rest. Ignis handed out kebabs to the Noctises first, then the Gladios, reaching past Prompto and Future Prompto awkwardly. Future Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Don’t gotta bother with rules of rank out here, Igs.” 

“Please don’t call me that,” Ignis said stiffly. “And if one only stands on formality when being observed, such formality becomes meaningless.” 

Future Ignis’s head tilted at that, though Prompto couldn’t read the expression that flickered across his face behind the mirrored glasses and the scars. Future Ignis said mildly, “Formality is no more than a tool to express a sentiment and impose an order upon the world.” 

Ignis tensed, pushing his own glasses back into place. “Our world has been turned thoroughly upside-down in the past twenty-four hours,” he said. “A little order is greatly needed.” 

Future Noctis shot a glance at his younger self over Prompto’s head; Prompto couldn’t see Noct’s face but he imagined it had much the same expression as Future Noctis: fond exasperation. Noctis said, “It’s okay, Ignis. Sounds like the normal order was gonna be tossed out the window in a few years anyway.”

Ignis’s jaw tensed, his cheekbones standing out in sharp relief; he turned away abruptly and resumed serving kebabs, though his shoulders remained stiff as a board. Prompto bit his lip, wanting to say something but not sure what. The expression on Ignis’s face when he handed Prompto a pair of kebabs was forbidding, and Prompto ended up saying nothing. He couldn’t afford to piss off Ignis, not before he knew where he would stand with him and Gladio after… after they found out.

For a few minutes the haven was silent as everyone ate. Prompto had missed dinner last night thanks to the daemons who’d kidnapped him, and despite the sickly paleness of the vegetables on the skewer, the kebabs tasted amazing. Fortunately, they had plenty of meat from whatever the others had hunted, so he didn’t feel too guilty for eating three kebabs by himself and stealing all of the vegetables off Noct’s. Ignis’s disapproving look almost made him give the veggies back, but the look was aimed at Noctis and Noctis returned it with a raised eyebrow that clearly told Ignis to back off. 

Trying to make up for it, Prompto finished eating quickly and popped to his feet, collecting the empty skewers from the others and taking them back to the little folding table Future Ignis had used for prep. Then floundered, because how did you wash dishes on a campground with no running water?

Behind him, Future Gladio called, “There’s a metal mixing bowl in the cooler under the stove. Pour some water from the canteens in there and heat it on the grill, you can use that to wash up.” 

“I don’t suppose you have dish soap in there, too,” Ignis said, his voice studiously neutral. 

“We haven’t had dish soap for, oh, seven or eight years,” Future Prompto said cheerfully. “Either you scrub real good with a washcloth, or you use whatever bar soap is left over from the shower.” 

Crouched beside the stove, Prompto peeked over his shoulder in time to see the horror that flashed across Ignis’s face before he got his expression under control. Future Ignis said, in a gentle tone, “We’re used to it. I’ll not say it’s pleasant, but one can get used to many things when one has no other choice.” 

Ignis stalked over to Prompto’s side, not quite snatching the mixing bowl from Prompto’s hands and reaching for one of the water bottles on the table. “I thought the goal of our running away from the Crown City was to _avoid_ a situation where we needed to get used to such things.” 

“Ignis,” Noctis said sharply. Ignis tensed, the muscles in his jaw working again. Noctis continued, “If you want to go home, you can. I know I’m asking a lot of you guys, and I’ll understand if—”

“No,” Ignis cut in. He closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath, though he didn’t turn to look at Noctis. “My place is by your side. No matter what.” 

Noct’s gaze flicked to Future Ignis, the hideous scars around his eyes, and he winced. Prompto’s stomach churned as he realized what Noctis - what Ignis - was thinking. Taking a deep breath, trying to get the words out before his brain could panic and shut down, he said, “You sure about that ‘no matter what’ part?” His voice came out normal, teasing, and inwardly he sighed with relief. “‘Cause you might want to step away to let him, y’know, go to the bathroom and stuff. Take a shower now and then. Maybe have some _alone_ time.” He waggled his eyebrows. 

Ignis choked and nearly dropped the water bottle, while Noctis sputtered in indignation. Future Prompto said lightly, “He’s got a point. I’m pretty sure Noct was eighteen when he started sneaking books from the adults-only cabinet in the back corner of the comics shop.” 

“Seventeen,” Future Noctis corrected with an innocent grin. “Would’ve been sooner but the shop owner didn’t believe I was over twelve before then.” 

Noctis went red from his nose to his ears and Ignis looked like he wanted to do anything but have this conversation. Future Gladio’s eyes crinkled in what was almost a laugh. “I still ain’t sure I believe it. I’d say try the beard again but it wasn’t exactly helping your case.” 

“It made me look _too_ old!” Future Noctis protested.

“Sorry, my dude, hate to say it but it mostly made you look scruffy,” Future Prompto teased. 

“Still better than yours,” Future Noctis shot back. 

“Rude!” Future Prompto put a hand over his heart and swayed on Future Gladio’s knee in mock distress. 

They continued to banter as Prompto tugged the bowl of water from Ignis’s hands and set it on the grill. He was examining the sides, trying to figure out how to light it, when Ignis leaned past him and twisted a knob. Flames burned to life under the bowl and Prompto dumped the dirty skewers into the water, waiting for it to finish heating. 

Then Ignis said, very quietly, “I’m sorry.” 

Prompto blinked at him, sure he’d misheard - _Ignis Scientia_ was apologizing to _him_? But Ignis’s mouth flickered in something that didn’t quite manage to be a smile, and he continued, “This was all… very sudden, but that’s no excuse for me to be rude.” 

“S’okay,” Prompto said automatically. “I mean, I get it. It was sudden for me, too.”

“Moreso for you than the rest of us,” Ignis said ruefully. Prompto’s heart skipped a couple of beats in terror before he realized Ignis meant the whole kidnapping thing last night. Ignis didn’t know about the barcode, about what Prompto really was. Not yet. Then Ignis added, “Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Really?” Prompto said, and immediately wanted to die of embarrassment. He was eighteen, he shouldn’t squeak like the groupie girls that followed Noctis around school. 

But Ignis smiled again, this time for real, soft and warm as he shot a glance over his shoulder at Noct. “Noctis is… happier, when you’re with him. What we’re about to undertake… he’ll need that.” 

“Oh,” Prompto said. His cheeks were heating up, and not from the warmth of the grill. “He’s my best friend. I’ll stay with him as long as he’ll have me.” 

“Good,” Ignis said. He nudged Prompto gently. “Then go sit with him. I’ll handle the washing.” 

“You sure?” Prompto said. “I don’t mind—” 

“Neither do I,” Ignis said. “Please.” 

Prompto studied him for a second. He suspected that as much as anything, Ignis wanted a few minutes to focus on a task away from the others, to compose himself and maybe try to not be so snappish. So he nodded and flashed a smile. “Thanks.”


	13. Young Gladio Speaks Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Gladio's turn for a freak-out - but Gladio at any age doesn't do things by halves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter marks the end of the stuff posted to Tumblr. After this, it'll be all new content!

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

Ignis smiled back at Prompto, then busied himself with finding a cloth to wash the skewers. Prompto left him to it and retreated to Noctis’s chair, settling onto the ground and leaning back against Noct’s legs. Noct bumped him lightly with a knee, a question: _you okay?_ Prompto nudged back with his elbow: _I’m fine_. 

His neck prickled, and he looked up to see Future Noctis watching him with an odd expression on his face. If Prompto hadn’t known better he would almost have thought it was jealousy - but why would Future Noctis be jealous of _Prompto?_

Future Noctis looked away abruptly, shifting in his seat in a way all too familiar to Prompto from years of being in the same classes as the prince: he was uncomfortable, and was about to change the subject. Sure enough, Future Noctis said, “Ignis, Gladio. Any news from the Crown City?” 

“Yeah,” Future Gladio said. “I sat on the radio in the van while they were out hunting.” He jerked his head at the Ignises. 

“We decided not to risk turning on our younger counterparts’ cell phones, in case the Crownsguard is trying to track them,” Future Ignis explained. “But the Kingsglaive van’s radio has some access to Crownsguard encrypted communications channels, and as far as we can tell they’re not yet aware we have it.” 

“News on the Crownsguard channels ain’t good, though,” Future Gladio said. 

Noctis twitched, his leg bumping Prompto again, but this time it was tension. “Is my dad okay?” 

Future Gladio waved a hand absently. “Regis is fine. They got him to a safe house last night.” 

“Then—” 

“It’s the rest of the Citadel,” Future Gladio said. “It’s still crawling with daemons.” 

Prompto glanced up at the brilliant blue sky - the brilliant blue _sunlit_ sky - on reflex, peripherally aware of his future self doing the same thing. “But it’s daylight,” he protested. “I thought daemons didn’t come out during the day.” 

“That’s the problem,” Future Gladio said. “From the sound of it, it ain’t daylight at the Citadel.” 

“Ardyn,” Future Prompto muttered bitterly. Future Gladio jostled him on his knee, then when Future Prompto threw out his arms for balance, wrapped a massive hand around Future Prompto’s right wrist. Prompto scratched at his own gauze-wrapped wrist, his skin crawling. He hated people touching his right wrist, the fear of someone seeing the barcode there tangled with the uglier fears of what it might mean. Yet his adult self didn’t seem to mind Future Gladio touching his wrist. Seemed to be glad about it, actually, if the way he relaxed was any indication. 

Then he realized Future Noctis was watching them with the same weirdly jealous expression he’d had watching Prompto and Noctis. 

Prompto leaned harder into Noctis’s legs. He remembered Noct saying last night that his future self had spent ten years locked away inside the Crystal while everyone else kept living in the real world. Was that what had happened? Watching Noctis interact with Ignis and Gladio always made Prompto feel like an outsider - they’d known each other for years and years longer than Prompto had, and it showed in the way they spoke to each other, the way they moved around one another. Had Future Noctis spent so long in the Crystal that he’d lost that, and instead Future Prompto had it? The thought was bizarre, and more than a little unsettling. 

“I’m not sure it’s Ardyn,” Future Ignis said, interrupting Prompto’s musings. “Noct, you said last night that Ardyn seemed surprised by the daemons at the Citadel.”

Future Noctis nodded, the moment of jealousy vanishing behind a serious expression that made him look like King Regis. “He was definitely surprised when I mentioned them.”

“Surprised you knew about them, maybe,” Future Gladio said.

“I don’t think so,” Future Noctis said. “He knew we were at the Citadel, so if he sent them he’d expect us to know about them.”

“Not if he thought we were out rescuing him,” Future Gladio said, with a tilt of his chin toward Prompto. 

But Future Noctis shook his head. “Ardyn doesn’t have any reason to send daemons to the Citadel, anyway. He needs me to claim the throne and the Crystal, and I can’t see how a daemon infestation at the Citadel would make that happen.” 

“I think you’re right,” Future Ignis said. “Whatever’s causing the disturbance at the Citadel, it’s not Ardyn Izunia.” 

Future Gladio grunted disagreement. “You guys said that last night, but you still haven’t said who else it could be. That didn’t happen in our past, which means it’s something that changed as a result of us being here. But we didn’t do it, so it has to be Ardyn.” 

“Just because we don’t know what’s causing it, doesn’t mean it must be Ardyn,” Future Ignis said, irritation in his tone. He gestured at his own younger self, still washing dishes; then at Prompto and Noctis and Gladio. “Obviously they aren’t us as such, else we’d remember it. Therefore—”

“A branched timeline,” Future Gladio said. “But we’re still the branching point.” 

“Indeed, and once our arrival caused such a branch, any number of other things might have changed. Small things, or—”

“Or daemons magically turning up at the Citadel?” Gladio interrupted. “Inside the Wall? And staying there during the day? Those ain’t exactly small.” 

“That doesn’t—” Future Ignis began heatedly.

“Enough,” Future Noctis broke in, raising one hand. Behind Prompto, Noctis twitched, and Prompto wondered just how much Future Noctis had sounded like King Regis. Prompto had only ever seen the king at a distance, on television and once up on a stage at a festival for Bahamut which Prompto had attended mostly as moral support for Noctis. King Regis was known for being quiet and thoughtful in public, but Noctis had mentioned that his dad could be stern when his councilors started bickering.

Future Noctis was clearly channeling that sternness now as he continued, “We can keep working on the _why_ of it. But we need to decide what we’re going to do in the meantime.” 

“Going back to the Citadel’s out,” Future Gladio said, and Future Prompto nodded agreement. 

“And I’m not going back until we’ve fixed things, anyway,” Noctis broke in. “Daemons or no daemons.” All of the adults turned to look at him as though they’d forgotten he was there; he scowled and folded his arms. “I said last night, I’m gonna change the future. I’m not letting Luna and Dad die.” 

“Okay,” Future Noctis said. “Then here’s what we’re going to do. Prompto.” 

Prompto snapped to attention, nerves twisting his gut, but Future Noctis was talking to Prompto’s own adult self. He continued, “You and I will take Kid Ignis and Kid Gladio to Hammerhead. If they’re going to be running around out here, they need to know Cid and Cindy. We can show them how hunts work, too, and pick up supplies while we’re there, maybe get some more information about what’s going on in the Crown City.” 

“What about Noct?” Gladio spoke up from behind Noct’s chair, his voice startlingly high after Future Gladio’s diesel rumble. 

“He stays here,” Future Noctis said. He glanced at Noct. “You remember how to add someone to the armory, right? You need to get your Prompto added.” He paused, then met Prompto’s eyes. “Assuming you want to be. If you don’t—”

“No,” Prompto interrupted. The nerves spiked all the way into fear, almost choking him, but he managed to get out, “No, I mean, yes, I want to be.” He looked up at his own Noctis, his heart skipping a beat. “If you want me to be.” 

“‘Course I do,” Noctis said, and nudged Prompto with his knee again. Prompto bumped him back with a shoulder. Noct was trying to put on a brave face, but Prompto knew him well enough by now to recognize how nervous he was. Prompto couldn’t blame him - he was planning to try to stop an entire invasion, to change the course of a bad future. 

Prompto wasn’t about to let him do that alone. 

“Good,” Prompto said. He wasn’t sure if he was trying more to reassure Noctis or himself, but he grinned at Noct and added, “‘Cause you’re stuck with me.” Noct grinned back, and Prompto thought he looked relieved. 

Then Gladio said, “If Noct is staying here, then so am I.” 

Everyone turned to look at him where he stood behind Noctis. His chin lifted under the scrutiny, but he nodded at Noct and said, “I’m your Shield. We’re gonna run around outside the Wall, fine. But I’m staying right beside you.” 

Noctis opened his mouth to speak, but Future Noctis beat him to it. “You can’t. You guys need to get familiar with Hammerhead, and your Prompto needs to get added to the armory—”

“So we do that later,” Gladio said, an edge to his voice. 

“He can’t go to Hammerhead,” Future Noctis said. “Most people didn’t recognize me before, but Cid will, and this time he isn’t helping my dad get me - him - us - whatever, out of Insomnia ahead of the invasion. He’ll tip off the Crownsguard, and then you’ll have the ‘Guard chasing you all over. You guys need to keep a low profile out here.” 

“Fine,” Gladio snapped. “Then I’m staying at the haven with him. Ignis can go to Hammerhead with you.” 

“It’s unwise to rely on a single person for knowledge of how things work beyond the Crown City,” Future Ignis said, his voice studiously neutral. “It would be best if two of you went.” 

“Then send Prompto.” 

“I’m going to be adding him to the armory,” Noctis said, clearly exasperated. “Future-me is right - you and Iggy need to go do this. I’ll be fine here.” 

“I’ll be with him,” Future Gladio added. “Are you saying you don’t trust your future self?” 

“Not really.” Gladio’s voice was grim and angry. “From the sound of it, you were planning to just let _your_ Noctis die.” 

A razor-sharp silence dropped over the haven. Future Ignis’s hands flexed as though he wished he held a weapon, while his younger counterpart had frozen in place by the camp stove. Future Prompto’s face was eerily blank, and though he still perched on Future Gladio’s knee, he shifted like he was getting ready to dive out of the way. Future Gladio himself didn’t move, but something in the way he held himself, in the lines of his face, had gone dark and dangerous. In a very low, very level voice, he said, “Want to try that again?”

Gladio seemed to realize he’d crossed a line. His eyes flicked to Noctis, clearly looking for help, but Noctis sat silent, his jaw tight. Gladio glanced at Future Noctis next, but he, too, said nothing, sitting straight-backed in his camp chair as regally as though it was the throne of Lucis. Finally Gladio said, in a voice tight with frustration, “I don’t trust anyone other than me to do _my_ job. And my job is to protect _him_.” He jerked his chin at Noct. 

Another beat of that awful silence. Prompto held himself perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. Through the touch of Noctis’s leg against his shoulder, he could feel Noct shaking, whether from tension or anger, Prompto couldn’t tell. He saw his future self move one hand, very slightly, to squeeze Future Gladio’s knee. 

Then Future Gladio let out a slow breath. A crackle of energy seemed to flow out and away from the haven with it, all of them relaxing as it became clear nobody was going to start a fight. 

“We’ll talk later,” Future Gladio said to his younger self, still in that deadly level voice, grim enough that Prompto shivered. “You wanna protect your Noct, the best way you do that right now’s by going to Hammerhead and getting the intel you’ll need.”

“I’m not—”

“Shield Amicitia,” Future Noctis said sharply. “You’re going to Hammerhead. That’s an order.”

If Prompto had thought he’d sounded stern before, he sounded downright severe now. His stormy grey eyes were cold, his expression forbidding as he held Gladio’s gaze. Gladio’s mouth snapped closed, the muscles of his jaw standing out as though it was taking an effort of will not to say anything. He inclined his upper body in a stiff bow to Future Noctis, and Prompto didn’t know anything about royal etiquette but he would have bet his entire bank account that that bow was court-perfect to the millimeter. Then Gladio turned on one heel, still with that courtly precision, and stalked away toward the ramp down the side of the haven and the Kingsglaive van parked there. 

Another silence settled over the haven, this one swollen and aching like a bruise. Future Noctis breathed out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as though in pain, and Future Ignis turned away, his hands moving to pack up the dishes his younger self had washed, though his sightless gaze was fixed on the distant horizon. Prompto’s adult self was watching Future Gladio with a worried expression; after a moment Future Gladio looked up at him. His expression didn’t change, but he wrapped a hand around Future Prompto’s right wrist and squeezed. 

Prompto looked up at his own Noctis, who was still shaking, his already-pale skin several shades whiter than usual. The mood hadn’t exactly been light before, what with Ignis having his own freak-out earlier, but it was dark enough now that even the brilliant sunlight overhead felt unpleasantly dim. He wanted to say something, to break the awful tension like he had before, but this silence was too heavy for him to lift. Gladio had clearly touched a nerve with the adults, and honestly Prompto wasn’t even sure he disagreed. He’d been too busy worrying about the barcode and Ardyn Izunia and being outside the Crown City last night, but he remembered the tremor in Noct’s voice as he told Prompto about the true destiny of the Chosen King. 

_ I get two years before I die _ , Noct had said in the van. Two years, and a decade of solitude inside the Crystal that was supposed to be their savior. Then he was supposed to just let himself die, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Including Gladio, whose entire purpose - whose whole family’s entire purpose - was to not let that happen. 

No wonder both Gladios were upset. 

Prompto didn’t realize he was staring at Future Gladio until Future Gladio turned to look at him. His amber eyes were sad, exhausted in a way that made Prompto’s soul ache. He didn’t know what was on his own face, but whatever Future Gladio saw there, it made him heave out another sigh and shake himself. Future Prompto and Future Noctis both looked at him in surprise, and he said gruffly, “You guys had better get moving.” 

“Yeah,” Future Noctis agreed. He stood and headed for the tent. “C’mon, Prompto, let’s get changed. If we’re trying to be incognito we can’t show up in palace clothes.” 

Future Prompto snorted and hopped off Future Gladio’s knee, following Future Noctis to the tent. “Please tell me you’re not gonna wear that stupid puffy vest.” 

“It’s a million degrees out here, of course not!” Future Noctis said. Whatever Future Prompto’s retort was, it was too muffled by the tent flap to be heard. 

Prompto looked up at Noctis again. Noct was still pale, staring at nothing, and Prompto bumped him in the knee with his shoulder. When Noct looked down at him, Prompto said, “We’re not gonna let that happen, y’know. Like you said, we’re going to save everyone and change it.” 

Noctis nodded once, sharply, but his attempt at a smile came out more a grimace, and he didn’t say anything. Prompto frowned, because Noct had been pretty vocal about changing everything last night, and just a few minutes ago when talking to his future self— 

Wait a minute. 

All the air suddenly evaporated from Prompto’s lungs. Noctis had said he wasn’t going to let Lady Lunafreya or King Regis die. He hadn’t said anything about himself. 

Prompto bit down on his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. He wanted to yell at Noctis, to make him promise that he would try to save himself as much as the king and the Oracle - but not right now. Not with their future selves in earshot, with Ignis and Gladio likewise wound tight about Noct’s destiny. And he knew it wouldn’t do much good anyway. Noctis was stubborn as hell, and if he’d made up his mind that his death was necessary to save the world, nothing Prompto could say would change it. 

Any doubts about joining Noctis on this insane journey vanished from Prompto’s mind. Terror still roiled in his gut like a live thing, but he’d survived terrifying things before. Introducing himself to the Crown Prince three years ago, for one, and being kidnapped by daemons and grabbed by Ardyn Izunia last night. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

He had to. 


	14. Hammerhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys visit Hammerhead - but they're not the only ones who turn up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward into new territory! 
> 
> Updates are likely to be significantly slower from here on out. Turns out writing eight chocobros all at once is exponentially more complex than writing four of them. On top of that, Ardyn, being Ardyn, is posing some problems. As always, thank you for your encouragement and especially your patience!

** Noctis (Age 30) **

* * *

Noctis was staring out the window of the Kingsglaive van, trying not to think about his destiny and what it would do to his friends when it came to pass, when Prompto said suddenly, “Y’know, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to introduce them to Cid and Cindy.” He jerked his head to indicate Young Ignis and Young Gladio in the back of the van. 

Noctis dragged his attention from the passing Leide landscape to frown at Prompto. “What? Why not?” 

“Cindy’s not stupid,” Prompto said. “Neither is Cid. He kept an eye on the news from the Crown City even after his split with your dad. He’ll probably recognize Shield Junior - maybe even Baby Iggy—” ignoring their respective offended huffs “—since I’m pretty sure they both showed up in some of the paparazzi photos of you.” 

Noctis groaned. Prompto wasn’t wrong, at least about Ignis and Gladio having been in photos with him. King Regis had done his best to keep the media away from Noct through his childhood, but as Noctis had gotten older and begun shouldering more of the duties of the Crown, the press attention had gotten more intense. Cid probably was too canny to risk an introduction if they wanted to keep Young Noctis’s presence outside Insomnia a secret. “If I ever needed another reason to hate the paparazzi,” Noctis grumbled. “But yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“Wait,” Young Gladio cut in. It was the first he’d spoken since they left the haven, and he still sounded sullen and angry. “You’re saying this whole thing’s pointless? You guys made me leave my Noctis with—”

“That’s enough,” Noctis snapped, his voice coming out hard and cold and sounding like his father. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen Prompto’s grip tighten on the steering wheel, hard enough that the leather covering creaked. They needed to not have this conversation again, not right now. “It’s not pointless. We weren’t doing this just so you could meet them.” 

“You mentioned acquiring supplies,” Young Ignis spoke up, with a glare at Young Gladio. “Perhaps seeking further news from the Crown City.” 

Noctis nodded. “And even if we don’t introduce you guys to Cid and Cindy, it should be safe for you to meet Takka and pick up a couple of hunts.” 

“You mentioned hunts back at the haven,” Young Ignis said, and Noctis knew him well enough to recognize the opening to change the subject. “What are they?” 

“They’re a good way to make fast cash out here,” Noctis said. He explained the rest of it - who to talk to at various outposts, what notice boards to look for, how much cash they’d need on hand and why. This led to a brief sidetrack about how their Insomnian yen and Crown credit cards would be no good out here where everyone used the Imperial gil. Ever since King Mors pulled the Wall back, easy trade with nearby Niflheim bases had become more important than maintaining fiscal continuity with the remote and inaccessible Crown City. Young Ignis listened with the intense focus he normally reserved for important Council meetings, and even Young Gladio stopped sulking and began to pay attention. 

The discussion lasted until Prompto swung the van off the road onto what could be charitably called a wagon track. Noctis grabbed for a handhold as they bounced and jostled over the rough dirt. “What the hell, Prompto?” They were still a couple of miles away from Hammerhead and he had no idea why Prompto had turned off the road now.

Prompto threw him half a grin. “If we’re trying to be incognito, we probably shouldn’t drive a Kingsglaive van into the middle of Hammerhead, y’know? There’s a place a little ways behind it, below an overhang, where I can park and nobody will see. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way, but it’s not far.” 

“He has a point,” Young Ignis said. “Though I imagine arriving to a vehicular outpost on foot will raise other questions.” 

“We can say we ran out of gas,” Noctis suggested. “Buy a couple of gallons and bring them back with us. We probably need to fuel up, anyway.” 

Prompto glanced down at the fuel gauge. “Yeah. This thing’s a gas guzzler.”

“You think they’ll buy that?” Young Gladio asked with a skeptical lift of an eyebrow. “Just happened to run outta gas within walking distance of a service station?” 

Prompto snorted. “Cindy said it used to happen all the time. City folk always underestimate how big Lucis proper is. And how empty.” 

Young Ignis looked thoughtful. “I suppose there’s rather a difference between seeing maps and actually being out here.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed. The low cliff Prompto had mentioned came into view through the windshield, and Prompto parked the van in the shade of the overhang. It was hardly hidden - anyone coming along the wagon track would see it - but it was good enough for now. 

The four of them piled out, Prompto taking the lead as they walked along the bumpy track to the other end of the overhang. He guided them south for a ways, then west toward the highway, adding veracity to their story about having been stranded by the side of the road. The sun burned hot overhead, and even the relatively short walk left them all sweaty and drooping by the time they climbed over the low highway barricade a mile or so south of Hammerhead. 

Twenty minutes later, they trudged along the highway into the station’s parking lot. It was bright and sunny and full of visitors, both ordinary folk just stopping for gas and hunters crowded around the weapons wagon parked to the side. Noctis and the others drew more than a few curious glances, not only because they’d arrived on foot. 

They’d tried for clothes that would blend in, but with limited options to work from, hadn’t been as successful as Noctis had hoped. He was wearing black jeans and a white and silver T-shirt which was clearly of Insomnian make, but also the only thing he had left that wasn’t entirely royal black. Young Ignis wore the grey vest suit he’d had on yesterday when they’d fled the Crown City, and looked like an escapee from an accounting college. Young Gladio, too, wore yesterday’s clothes, black jeans of his own and his grey Insomnia University hoodie. The hoodie was way too heavy for the heat of the Leide desert, but it was still better than the muscle shirt embroidered with the obvious Lucis Caelum crest. 

Prompto was the only one who actually looked like he belonged there. He’d swapped his Kingsglaive uniform for a pair of grease-stained blue jeans with gaping holes at the knees, a flannel shirt tied around his waist, a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and the Exineris logo splashed on the front, and a battered, fingerless leather gauntlet that covered his right arm from palm to elbow. The best they could hope for was that people assumed Prompto was from greater Lucis and escorting three very naive Insomnian companions. But there wasn’t anything they could do about it, not until they got to Lestallum where they could buy new clothes for everyone. 

Noctis kept one eye on the people milling around, watching for any signs of recognition or outcry. The other, he kept on Prompto as they walked. Hammerhead looked the way it did in most of Noctis’s memories, lively and cheerful in the midday sunshine, but Prompto had spent years living in the Scourge-darkened hunters’ outpost it had become. Sure enough, Prompto’s eyes were even wider than the kids’ as he stared around the place. 

Noctis nudged him with an elbow. It took Prompto a few seconds to tear his gaze away from the sunlight gleaming on the windows of Takka’s diner, and when he finally looked at Noct, his eyes were damp. But he managed a lopsided grin as he said, “It’s been a while, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed. 

“It’s…” Prompto scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “It’s been almost four years since Takka died, did you know?” 

Noctis shook his head, the ache in his chest familiar by now but no less painful. He hadn’t seen Takka during his brief stay in the darkened Hammerhead, but hadn’t asked about him, either. Only a few days back from the Crystal and he’d already realized he shouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to hear about another friend lost in the ten years he’d slept. “You gonna be okay?” he said to Prompto. 

“Sure,” Prompto said brightly, then immediately put the lie to that by adding, “I’ll start picking up supplies. You guys go get a hunt.” Noctis gave him a sharp look, but Prompto just waved jauntily and split off to head for the little convenience store. 

Sighing, Noctis led Young Ignis and Young Gladio into Takka’s diner. The interior was the familiar homey and old-fashioned restaurant Noctis remembered, rather than a grim, weapons-packed hunter’s outpost. Takka himself stood off to one side behind the counter as he chatted with a middle-aged couple - an Exineris worker and her husband, by the look of them, probably en route home from a Galdin Quay vacation if their sunburns were anything to go by. 

Noctis motioned the kids to take a seat at the counter, and after a minute or two, Takka came over, wiping his hands on a rag and sizing them up with a tipster’s professional eye. “Welcome. Y’all from the Crown City?” 

“They are,” Noctis said, and tilted his head toward Young Ignis and Young Gladio. It was as good an explanation as any for their out-of-place clothes and inexperience. “New hunters. Figured we’d show ‘em around.” 

“Hunters, huh?” Takka said. He studied the kids for a moment, then looked back to Noctis, apparently unimpressed. “You here for food or info?” 

“Both,” Noctis said. Young Ignis and Young Gladio glanced at him, probably because it had only been a couple hours since breakfast at the haven; Noct signaled them to hold on. “Give us two orders of jambalaya and the latest hunts.” 

“Comin’ right up,” Takka agreed. 

As he turned away to plate up the food, Noctis said quietly to the kids, “You want to be on Takka’s good side. You get there by eating - and praising - his jambalaya.” 

Young Gladio snorted. Young Ignis said, consternation in his voice, “Is it, ah, worth praising?” 

Noctis couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Absolutely.” 

Takka came back then with two steaming bowls and three spoons, setting them on the counter in front of Noctis. “You been hunting long?” he asked Noctis, friendly but with noticeable caution. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here before.” 

“I don’t normally come this far east,” Noctis lied. “I’m based out of Meldacio.” 

Takka nodded, apparently buying it. “Got a map?” 

Noctis reached around to his back pocket and called their old map to hand from the armory. The only other people in the diner at the moment were the couple at the other end of the counter, and a pair of hunters sitting at a booth in the far corner; none appeared to notice his use of magic. He handed the map to Takka, who spread it out on the counter and started marking it up with chalk. 

Noctis used the time to dig into the jambalaya; after a moment of hesitation, both the kids did too. Noctis watched with amusement as Young Ignis’s eyes lit up on his first bite, and counted down the seconds in his head to Young Ignis pulling out the little notebook he kept in his vest pocket and jotting down notes. Young Gladio took the opportunity to steal one of the two bowls for himself. 

By the time Takka slid the map back across the counter, Young Gladio’s bowl was empty and the only reason the other one wasn’t was because Young Ignis was using his spoon to separate the ingredients enough to identify them. Takka chuckled. “Guess you were hungry.” 

“I told them it’s good,” Noctis said, and grinned. “So what needs hunting?” 

Takka tapped a couple of points he’d marked on the map. “Pack of sabertusks gettin’ bold up here. And we got a report of an unusually aggressive mesmenir herd over here.” 

Noctis nodded. Sabertusks and mesmenirs would be good, easy hunts for his younger self and the other kids to both wet their feet with hunting, and learn to fight as a team. “Thanks,” he said to Takka, then folded up the map and slid a few bills across the counter. With a jerk of his head at the kids to follow, he headed out of the diner. 

“That seemed to go well,” Young Ignis said neutrally as they headed across the parking lot toward the convenience store. 

Noctis nodded. “Those hunts should be easy enough.”

“How do we prove we did ‘em?” Young Gladio asked. “And how do we know they haven’t been done by someone else?” 

“The targets will still be there,” Noctis said dryly, which earned him a wry snort from Young Gladio. “You prove it by bringing back trophies - claws or horns, usually. Build up enough of a reputation with the tipsters and they’ll eventually take your word for it.” 

Young Gladio grunted agreement. Young Ignis said, “What now?” 

Noctis glanced around. They’d only been in the diner for fifteen or twenty minutes, and Prompto hadn’t emerged from the convenience store yet. Finally Noct pointed at the gas pumps. “You two pick up some gas, as much as you can carry. I’ll check on Prompto.” 

“Understood,” Young Ignis said. He and Young Gladio headed for the pumps, while Noctis split off to duck into the convenience store. 

He found Prompto crouched beside the grocery shelf, tossing cans of soup into an overflowing shopping basket. “Hey,” Noctis said. “How’s it going?” 

“There’s so much _stuff!_ ” Prompto said. “I forgot what it’s like to have _actual supplies_.” 

Noctis smiled. “We’ve got a couple of hunts. Let’s pay and get out of here.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Prompto said, but he bounced to his feet. Noctis helped him haul the stuffed shopping basket up to the counter and paid. They were packing their purchases - mostly canned foods and what looked like every fresh fruit and vegetable the little store had, though Prompto had managed to dig up a cheap tent as well - into bags when a sudden rumbling outside caught their attention. 

Leaving Prompto to finish bagging, Noctis stepped around the shelves in the middle of the store to peer out the front window - and froze. 

“Noct?” Prompto asked from behind him, a question in his tone:  _What’s wrong?_

“It’s the ‘Glaive,” Noct answered, as nearly two dozen black deployment vans rolled into the parking lot in neat formation. “The whole Kingsglaive is here.” 


	15. Drautos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis confronts Titus Drautos.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

“Shit,” Prompto muttered, coming to stand beside Noctis at the window. The shopping bags he’d been packing were gone, probably dismissed into the armory for safekeeping. “Think they’re here for us?”

Noctis studied the Kingsglaive vans lining up to park along the outer edge of the lot, trying to get the spike in his heart rate to come back down after the initial panic of seeing them. “No,” he said finally. “Remember, we told my dad about Glauca, and he said they were expecting the Kingsglaive back in the Crown City soon. They’re probably stopping for gas or something.”

“Right,” Prompto agreed, then darted a furtive glance around the store. Other than the bored clerk at the back, they were alone, but he lowered his voice anyway. “But Iggy said the Crownsguard are probably trying to find us, ‘cause we kind of… Y’know. Kidnapped the Crown Prince? Wouldn’t the Kingsglaive know about that?” 

“I hope not.” Noctis turned away from the window as men and women in black uniforms started climbing out of the vans. They didn’t look like they were on the hunt for anything, but he’d trained with the Kingsglaive on occasion as a teenager, and they might recognize him. Better safe than sorry. “The ‘Glaive and the ‘Guard have separate duties,” he explained to Prompto. “The ‘Glaive fights the war against Niflheim, and the ‘Guard protect the royal family. Anyway, I don’t think my dad knows we’ve left Insomnia.” 

“Probably still shouldn’t let them see us, though,” Prompto said, then glanced around with a frown. “Where’s the kids?” 

Noctis swore. “Outside. They were getting gas.” He leaned closer to the window, trying to look for Young Ignis and Young Gladio without showing his own face through the glass, but couldn’t spot them near the pump. Hopefully they’d had the sense to hide when the Kingsglaive arrived. The ‘Glaives _might_ recognize Noctis, twelve years older than he was supposed to be, but they’d _definitely_ recognize the Crown Prince’s two closest retainers. 

Prompto grabbed Noctis’s arm and tugged him deeper into the store, over past the little seating area with its table full of old magazines and slightly less old pamphlets. A moment later the bell above the door jangled and several sets of heavy boots clomped inside, accompanied by a burst of voices chattering about buying souvenirs for girlfriends back in the city. Noctis grabbed a magazine off the table and flipped it open to a random page, bending his head over it and letting his shaggy hair fall around his face. Prompto leaned closer, pretending to read over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Noctis could see at least four uniformed ‘Glaives moving through the store. So far they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Noctis and Prompto— 

Wait. One of them had just put a hand to her ear, listening to the little radio she wore there. The others fell silent as well, clearly also hearing whatever was coming over the comms. Then all four of them raised their heads, looking around the store, their postures going from relaxed off-duty slouches to straight-backed ready stances. One of them leaned across the checkout counter and spoke briefly and quietly to the young man there, who went pale and hurried away through a door in the far wall. 

Noctis swore under his breath, grabbed Prompto’s elbow, and headed for the front door. But two of the ‘Glaives beat him there. Noctis recognized one of them, a brown-haired woman with high cheekbones, though he couldn’t remember her name; the other was an unfamiliar man with dark blond hair and an arrogant smile. The man said, “Stop right there.”

“Who, us?” Prompto asked. His voice was casual, joking; Noctis knew the ‘Glaives wouldn’t recognize that it was higher-pitched than usual. “We were just heading back to our car—”

“Can it,” a new voice said from behind them. Noctis glanced over his shoulder to see that the remaining two ‘Glaives had flanked them. More worryingly, these two had pulled up their hoods and face masks, and both held their signature Kingsglaive kukris at ready. The one who’d spoken continued, “You’re wanted for kidnapping the Crown Prince and two of his retainers. Come quietly and maybe the king will go easy on you.” 

Noctis almost laughed; the guy sounded like a comic book villain. Prompto did laugh, a nervous chuckle, and said, “Kidnap the Crown Prince? Us? You’re crazy.” 

The blond ‘Glaive sneered. “We already found the two retainers,” he said, and Noctis hid a wince. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened: unaware that the Kingsglaive might be a threat, or perhaps simply still young and slow on the uptake, Young Gladio and Young Ignis hadn’t hidden in time from the Kingsglaive. Their capture must have been what had alerted the ‘Glaives in the store. To his companions, the blond man added, “Let’s get them outside. The captain’s going to want to talk to them.”

The words hit Noctis like a punch. _The captain_ meant Titus Drautos - or rather, General Glauca, the traitor who’d killed Noctis’s father during the invasion of Insomnia, who’d killed Lunafreya’s mother years ago in Tenebrae, who’d turned the entire Kingsglaive traitor and betrayed Lucis when it needed him most. Noctis almost didn’t notice as the ‘Glaives herded him and Prompto outside at bladepoint, barely heard Prompto’s worried hiss of _what do we do now._ Glauca was here, and the thought of it made Noctis’s blood boil. 

Out in the parking lot, a group of hooded and masked Kingsglaive had formed a half-circle around Young Ignis and Young Gladio. Several of Hammerhead’s civilian patrons, hunter and tourist alike, watched with fascination; others were hurriedly retreating into Takka’s diner or Cindy’s garage. In the center of the ring of Kingsglaive, Young Gladio’s face was like stone, tension vibrating through his shoulders, while Young Ignis’s expression was blank in the way it got when he was calculating plans. When he caught sight of Noctis and Prompto, his mouth tightened, and Noctis knew he’d been hoping they’d gotten away. 

The ‘Glaives directed Noctis and Prompto to stand with the kids, then filled in most of the open side of the circle. The man and woman from the store pulled their masks and hoods into place, and even Noctis could admit the resulting ring of faceless black military uniforms was intimidating. Then a new figure stepped into the gap in the circle, and Noctis stopped caring about anything else. 

Titus Drautos said, “We received word from the Crown City this morning that a group of men had made off with the royal prince and his retainers.” His voice was smooth, his expression cold. He looked exactly as he had when Noctis had last seen him, on the steps of the Citadel when he’d left his father behind. “We were told they might have come to Hammerhead,” Drautos continued, “but I didn’t expect you to be so bold as to show your faces in the most popular outpost in Leide.” 

Anger bubbled in Noctis’s chest; his fists clenched at his sides with the effort of not punching the man. “You’re one to talk. Showing _your_ face anywhere—” 

“Hmph.” Drautos was too good to overtly look at the other ‘Glaives, but Noctis knew his words were meant for them when he said, “I see. We weren’t born in Insomnia, so we should hide away where the good Crown citizens don’t have to see us.” 

“That’s not what he meant and you know it,” Young Gladio said, startling Noctis. They’d told the kids about Drautos’s betrayal back at the Citadel, but it had been just one awful footnote in a story of desperate tragedy; Noctis hadn’t thought the kids remembered. 

Drautos turned a disdainful eye to Young Gladio. “Gladiolus Amicitia,” he said coolly. “We were told you were among those kidnapped, yet you appear to be sympathizing with your own kidnappers. What would your father think?” 

“Don’t talk about my father,” Young Gladio snarled. His fists clenched and he took a step toward Drautos; Young Ignis put a hand on his arm to stop him. 

“He’d be disappointed, I’m sure,” Drautos said, as though Young Gladio hadn’t spoken. Noctis gritted his teeth, hating how calm the man was as he continued, “An Amicitia, a Shield to the Crown, betraying that same Crown—” 

Noctis saw red - saw blood, his father’s blood, dripping from General Glauca’s sword in the too-vivid memory shown to him by the Crystal. “The only traitor here is _you_ ,” he hissed. 

Drautos scoffed. “Traitor? I am His Majesty’s most loyal serv—” 

The Armiger exploded to brilliant life around Noctis, crystal weapons flashing at Drautos. Shouts erupted around him, but Noct didn’t hear them. All he heard was the dull _thud_ of Glauca’s sword piercing his father’s chest, all he saw was his father falling lifeless to the floor. His royal arms tore through Drautos’s uniform, slicing deep cuts along his arms and legs, but none landed where Noctis had intended: through Drautos’s heart. The man was too fast, diving backward away from the attack, and now he rolled to his feet with his sword in hand. 

Noctis lunged forward, attacking again, his Engine Blade crashing against Drautos’s sword - but movement to the side caught his eye and he barely managed to intercept a pair of kukris wielded by a black-hooded ‘Glaive. Another ‘Glaive struck at him from the other side, warping most of the way through the ring of crystal weapons that surrounded Noctis before being swatted back by the Shield of the Just. Fire and lightning erupted around him as the mages got in on the action, forcing Noctis to dodge to the side. 

As he came out of the dodge, from the corner of his eye Noctis spotted Young Gladio and Young Ignis running toward the diner, with Prompto a few steps behind them urging them on. Young Gladio had a shield on his arm, but Young Ignis was unarmed, and Noctis swore. Young Ignis had only just turned twenty and officially joined the Crownsguard; he might not even have his daggers yet. At least Prompto had his gun out, ready to fire at anyone chasing them.

A blade whistled past Noctis’s head and he snapped his attention back to his own fight. Prompto could take care of the kids - Noctis had Drautos and most of the Kingsglaive to worry about. Except Drautos had dismissed his sword into the armory and stepped back, clearly intending to withdraw and let the ‘Glaives fight for him. Sure enough, half a dozen more weapons flew at Noctis, blue warp magic trailing them, and he had to spend a few precious seconds dodging and blocking the attacks. By the time he could look for Drautos again, the man had retreated to the far side of the Hammerhead parking lot. Noctis charged for him, but yet more ‘Glaives darted into his path. 

Too much. The Kingsglaive didn’t know they were protecting a traitor, protecting the man who would sell Lucis to the Imperials - or maybe they _did_ know, maybe they’d already turned and were laying the groundwork for Insomnia’s demise. It didn’t matter, because they also didn’t know who Noctis was. _What_ Noctis was. The Chosen of the Crystal, who’d spent ten years of Reflection learning to wield the Crystal’s power. These Kingsglaive only borrowed the royal magic. It was Noctis’s birthright: _his_ choice who wielded it, and for what cause. 

The Kingsglaive had proven they couldn’t be trusted with it. 

Cries of surprise and horror erupted around the parking lot as Noctis cut the ‘Glaives off from the Crystal’s power. The mages staggered, gasping; a few of the warriors, either operating on reflex or simply slow to catch on, threw their weapons and then stood there gaping when they couldn’t warp after them. Noctis ignored them all. His only focus was Drautos, whose smug expression had turned to one of concern. Not fear, not yet, but Noctis would change that. He called his Engine Blade to hand and flung it at Drautos, and in the moment before the warp blurred his senses he saw Drautos realize his Kingsglaive weapon was locked away in the armory.

When Noctis came out of the warp a half-second later, his sword crashed against the metallic, alien armor of General Glauca. There was more yelling behind him, presumably from the Kingsglaive as they realized what they were looking at, but Noctis didn’t have time to care because Glauca had produced his Imperial greatsword from somewhere - probably whatever magitek pocket he kept his armor in - and was swinging for Noctis’s head. 

Noctis air-stepped out of the way, grabbed the Star of the Rogue and sent it whirling to come at Glauca from behind, then slashed at him with the Axe of the Conqueror. Glauca parried the axe, dodged the star, and struck a blow which Noctis barely managed to phase through. He’d known Glauca was fast and strong - aside from the Crystal’s memories, he’d seen him in action in person during the sacking of Fenestala Manor - and sure enough, Glauca’s sword cracked the pavement where Noctis’s blue-magic afterimage still stood.

Glauca swung again and Noctis tried to air-step backward, crashed into a parked car, and barely managed to dive to the side before Glauca’s sword cleaved halfway through the car. The two civilians crouched behind it screamed in terror, then screamed again when Glauca’s next swing sliced off the car’s roof. Noctis had phased through the second swing, but with a sick lurch in his stomach he realized the civilians couldn’t phase - and were too panicked to run. 

In Tenebrae, Glauca had cut down Fleuret royal guards and civilians alike. He’d murdered his way through the Citadel while chasing Regis and Lunafreya. He probably wouldn’t even notice if he killed more civilians now. Noctis needed to get this fight away from the crowded Hammerhead lot and the innocent observers before anyone got hurt. 

But Glauca wasn’t about to give Noctis time to form a plan. He attacked again, and though Noctis slipped out of the way of the blow, it was close enough that he felt steel brush his arm. Glauca swung again and again, and the third time Noctis wasn’t fast enough. The sword clipped his hip and sent him tumbling, blowing his focus, the world spinning around him in flashes of blue sky and black pavement. He crashed into something solid and metal, and it was instinct alone that had him summoning the Shield of the Just an inch ahead of Glauca’s sword. 

The strength of the blow knocked the wind from Noct’s lungs, crushed his body against whatever he’d landed on. He struggled to push Glauca away, but in that damn magitek armor the man was twice Noctis’s size and far stronger than any human should be, and even the hatred burning in Noct’s blood wasn’t enough to fight him off. Noctis would have to phase, but the tight quarters, metal on all sides and a roof looming above him and Glauca’s Stars-damned speed, made it dangerous. But Glauca was trying to crush him and Noctis didn’t have a choice, gathering his will to try to phase free— 

—A gun boomed, deafeningly close. Glauca jerked, staggering to the side, giving Noctis a foot or two of precious breathing room. “Noct!” Prompto yelled. “Go!” 

Noctis didn’t wait to be told twice. He kicked off the thing he’d been trapped against - one of Hammerhead’s gas pumps, now dented and tilted at a sharp angle - and rolled in the opposite direction from Glauca, coming to his feet a couple of yards away. Prompto fired again, the shots thumping into the magitek armor protecting Glauca’s chest. Not enough to kill, or even hurt, not with that damn armor - but enough to stagger Glauca for a moment longer. As the general turned toward Prompto where he stood in the cover of a pillar, Noctis called on the full power of the Armiger and the Crystal. 

He’d lost the ring of crystalline glaives when Glauca had thrown him, but it came back with a shriek of power through his body. Noctis felt his feet lift off the ground, the burn of magic radiating up his arm from the Ring of the Lucii on his finger, and didn’t care. He wasn’t about to let Glauca hurt anyone else. He raised his arm and flung it forward, all his glaives arrowing straight for Glauca.

Glauca was swinging at Prompto now, the heavy sword nearly severing the pillar he hid behind. Prompto dove backward with a yelp and a curse, then twisted into a desperate roll as Glauca’s next attack shattered the pavement an inch from Prompto’s head. Noctis had hoped to catch the general off-guard, but Glauca must have seen something because at the last instant, he flung himself to the side. 

Before he could recover his footing, Noctis darted close, grabbed him by the arm, and launched himself upward. He didn’t think Glauca knew Noctis could fly, and sure enough, the general flailed in confusion for a moment. Only for a moment, then he was swinging his sword again, but the moment was enough. Noctis whipped around in midair and flung Glauca like a throwing star, arcing him up and over the highway to crash into the rocky terrain of the desert beyond. 

Noct warped the moment he let go of Glauca, not giving the man a chance to recover. His Engine Blade slammed through Glauca’s arm with the full force of Noctis’s body weight behind it, slicing the magitek armor wide open and spattering blood into the dirt. It _still_ wasn’t Glauca’s heart, though, and Glauca was still fighting back. His swing was wild, desperate, but enough to force Noctis to phase backward out of reach. 

“Who _are_ you?” Glauca demanded as he leaped to his feet with inhuman speed. He didn’t wait for an answer, launching himself up in a powerful leap - but Noctis simply flew higher. He was done with this game, this fight. 

Done with Glauca. 

The Crystal’s magic sang through him, his royal arms glittering ominous and deadly in the sunlight. Memory flashed through Noctis’s mind: that sunny day in Tenebrae, blasted to smoke and screams by Glauca’s army. The horror on Lunafreya’s face as Glauca murdered Queen Sylva. The calm on Regis’s, seen through the awful clarity of the Crystal, as he died to protect Lunafreya and the Ring. The wet sound Glauca’s sword made as he’d pulled it free, the broken crumple of Regis’s body as it fell to the floor.

_Drautos, he’s in your hands._

“You killed my dad,” Noctis snarled. He flung his hand down, and his entire Armiger rained down on Glauca, opening more deep gashes in the man’s armor. Noctis didn’t give him a chance to recover, calling his weapons back and slamming them into Glauca again, and again, and again. Power was building up behind his eyes, throbbing in his blood, the Crystal’s magic drawing burning traces along his veins. 

Glauca cried out as the blades tore through him, a pained sound that fed the rage, the hate, the desire to see this traitor, this murderer, dead and bleeding. It was because of Glauca that Noctis would never see his dad - his own dad, not the past version of this time - again. Because of Glauca the Imperials had gotten the Crystal, because of Glauca that Ardyn’s plan had succeeded and Noctis had to die. He wanted Glauca to suffer, months - a decade - of Noctis’s own pain and grief reflected back on the man who’d caused it all— 

“Noctis!” 

Gladio’s voice. 

“ _Noctis!_ ” 

Arms wrapping around Noctis from behind, pinning his hands at his sides.

“ _NOCT!”_

The haze of grief and rage and memory vanished, the scene around Noctis coming back into sudden, awful focus. Glauca - Drautos - lay in a crumpled heap on the rock at Noctis’s feet. His unbreakable magitek armor had been shattered, whole pieces smashed off and scattered around his body. Blood leaked sluggishly from within, staining the dirt a dull, angry red. His helmet was gone, shattered like the rest of his armor, and more blood covered his face. Noctis couldn’t tell if he was breathing. 

All the anger drained out of Noctis so suddenly that his legs gave out; if Young Gladio hadn’t still been holding him in a bear hug he would’ve fallen. Seeing Drautos like that, the man Noctis had once admired and looked up to, the man who’d protected Lucis for so long, broken and bloody… Noctis twisted in Young Gladio’s grip, lurching desperately away. Young Gladio let him go and Noct made it halfway around a rocky protrusion before emptying his stomach. 

It wasn’t as though he’d never killed humans before - the Imperials had thrown plenty of human soldiers at him alongside the magitek troopers - but he’d never done it in anger. Never tried to make another human being suffer like that ( _but no, that wasn’t true either, and his thoughts skittered away from the memory of a train and chasing someone who looked like Ardyn but talked like Prompto_ ). But he’d never gone this far before, to spattered blood and shattered bone, and the guilt of it knotted in his stomach, twisted and fought against the simple, childish agony of _he killed my dad._

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him upright. Young Gladio again, his face studiously blank as he drew Noctis away from the rocks and Glauca both. “We have to go,” he said. “Noctis. Can you hear me?” 

Noctis realized, belatedly, that it wasn’t the first time Young Gladio had said that. He nodded numbly, let Young Gladio steer him back toward the highway. Masked Kingsglaive lined the side of the road, and though their faces were hidden, Noctis could sense the horror rolling off them like a physical wave. 

More details slowly came into focus: Prompto near the end of the row of Kingsglaive, talking rapidly and quietly to a heavyset ‘Glaive. Civilians beyond them, crowding at the edge of Hammerhead’s parking lot, craning their necks to see. A car approaching, a sleek baby-blue sedan with Young Ignis at the wheel. 

Young Gladio bundled Noctis into the car, the motions familiar from a lifetime of crisis response drills: _Get the prince to safety. Don’t let anyone get close to him. Don’t let people take his picture. Don’t—_

“ _Noctis_ ,” Young Gladio said sharply.

Noctis blinked. He was in the back seat of the car, Young Gladio next to him, Prompto sliding into the front seat on the other side and the door slamming behind him. Young Ignis pulled the car smoothly away from the shoulder, accelerating toward the turnoff to the haven several miles further up the road. 

“You’re bleeding,” Young Gladio said, and pointed down. Noctis looked; sure enough, blood dripped from a six-inch-long gash that curved around his left hip, where Glauca’s sword had clipped him. 

“Oh,” Noctis said. He tried to reach into the armory for one of the hunter’s salves they kept there, to close the wound. Magic throbbed in his head, the Crystal’s power echoing along his bones, and the world faded to black.


	16. Royal Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Prompto and Young Noctis talk.

** Prompto (Age 18) **

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Noctis asked, making Prompto jump. He’d been lost in thought, staring out over the road where his future self and the others had driven off toward Hammerhead. “Sorry,” Noct added quickly. “I just mean—”

“It’s fine,” Prompto said, and smiled, trying not to show how nervous he felt. “I was just… daydreaming, y’know? The sky’s so big out here, and—” 

Noct bumped his shoulder against Prompto’s, a gentle signal to stop talking. His expression said clearly that Prompto was failing at not looking nervous. “You don’t have to,” Noct said. “Do the Crownsguard thing, I mean. Or if you try it and decide you hate it, you don’t have to stick with it, it’s not a permanent thing…”

“Noct,” Prompto said. “Shut up. I’m doing this.” 

That got him a laugh, albeit a small one, from Noctis. Prompto grinned back, but it was hard to hold for more than a second, and he looked quickly back out over the desert to hide his expression. 

“Prompto?” Noctis asked, his voice soft and worried. He touched Prompto’s forearm lightly, just below the elbow. “Does it… Are you okay?” 

Prompto flinched. He’d been rubbing his right wrist over the gauze wrap that had taken the place of his familiar green wristband; Noctis must have thought the made-up injury from Ardyn was hurting him. He nodded, but Noct kept watching him with wide, worried eyes. This was why Prompto hated lying - he was awful at it. And anyway, he couldn’t keep the fake bandage on forever. Ignis or Gladio would get suspicious, and the second they realized he’d been hiding something from them…

Taking a deep breath, Prompto gathered his courage and blurted, “Can I… talk to you for a minute? Privately?” 

Noct glanced across the haven at the adults. “Sure.” 

Following his glance, Prompto swallowed hard. Future Gladio and Future Ignis appeared to be having a quiet but heated argument. He couldn’t make out the words, but their respective postures - Future Gladio tall and looming, Future Ignis straight-backed and precise - suggested they weren’t happy with each other. Prompto wondered uneasily if the fight was about him. There certainly weren’t many other topics for discussion, with the others gone to Hammerhead. But Noctis was already heading down the ramp that wound around the side of the haven, so Prompto shoved down that particular worry and hurried after him. 

Noctis led him a little ways up the dirt road toward Hammerhead, keeping one eye on Future Gladio in the reflex Prompto recognized from years of watching the prince ensure he was in view of his bodyguards. Prompto knew, in vague terms, that a lot of Noctis’s freedom - and he had way more than a Crown Prince normally got - depended on the presence of bodyguards. Noctis hated it and complained about it regularly to Prompto, but never actually made an effort to escape his guards, as Prompto had suggested jokingly on several occasions. He valued being able to go to school, the arcade, and other places too much. 

But now they were out here, miles and miles from the Crown City, with only two Gladios to make sure no one assassinated the only heir to Lucis. 

_ No _ , Prompto reminded himself. Not just two Gladios. Also a scary future version of Noctis, two Ignises, an equally scary grown-up Prompto, and soon, Prompto himself. Noctis needed Prompto to protect him. From the sound of it, he’d need all of them to protect him. Prompto couldn’t let him down. 

With that thought to bolster him, Prompto made himself say, “So, um. Before we do this Crownsguard thing. There’s something you need to know.” 

Noctis didn’t say anything, just watched Prompto from under his bangs with that serious expression he got, the one that meant he was giving his full, undivided attention. Normally Prompto liked knowing Noctis cared enough about a nobody like him to look at him like that, but right now, he kind of wished Noctis would look anywhere else. 

Prompto turned away instead, focusing on his wrist as he made himself start unwrapping the bandage. He felt a thousand times more exposed as the gauze fell away than he had stripping naked in the shed that morning. Keeping the barcode covered had been ingrained in him for as long as he could remember, just like wearing pants. More so, because his crotch wasn’t a marker of being a freak from Niflheim that could get him exiled - or worse. 

He got the gauze off, then had to fight not to immediately cover the barcode with his hand, or hide his arm behind his back. The skin of his wrist was slightly reddened from the wrap, and the barcode stood out like a scream. Pale hands appeared in his field of vision: Noct, fingers resting on Prompto’s arm a few inches above the tattoo, brushing the palm of his hand. 

“What is it?” Noctis asked gently. 

“So,” Prompto said. “MTs are robots powered by daemon batteries, right? Like you said last night.” 

Noctis made a soft noise of encouragement, his grey eyes fixed on Prompto. 

“The Niffs…” Prompto whispered, and nearly choked. Made himself continue, though his hand shook in Noct’s feather-light grasp. “They aren’t just catching random daemons to turn into batteries. They’re _making_ them.”

“Making…?” Noctis repeated, startled. 

Prompto nodded. “They’re cloning babies and turning them into—” He did choke then, the words a lead weight in his throat. “Turns out I’m—I was supposed to be—”

He gave up, curling around his arm. His future self had chased away the horror for a little while, but now it came crashing back down around him: he was a clone, fuel for a weapon and nothing more. He didn’t dare look up, because he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Noct look at him with hate or disgust.

Then Noct said, “So? Who cares?” 

Prompto jerked his head up. “But… I’m from _Niflheim_ ,” he protested. “I’m—” 

“So?” Noctis repeated. He was still holding Prompto’s arm, and moved one shoulder in a half-shrug, his voice light. “Since when do you care where anyone’s from? It’s not like you’ve ever treated me like a prince.” 

“But—” Prompto said. It was too big for him to hold in - being a clone, being a lab experiment meant to be turned into a weapon - yet Noctis was brushing it off like it was nothing. “But—”

Noct’s hands tightened, enough to give him a gentle shake. “It doesn’t matter. You’re Lucian now.” 

Prompto stared at him. His stomach was doing weird little butterfly dips and flutters and he couldn’t decide if he was going to faint or scream. He somehow managed to do neither, though he was pretty sure he was only staying upright thanks to Noct’s grip on his arm. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I just… I don’t want this to change anything, y’know?” 

“Well, _something’s_ changing,” Noctis said, and Prompto’s heart stopped beating for an awful second before he registered the teasing smile on Noct’s mouth. “You’re about to become Crownsguard, remember? That’s a pretty big change.” 

Prompto gasped out a sigh that wasn’t as exaggerated as he pretended it was, and swayed in Noct’s grip in a mock swoon. “Giving me a heart attack there, bro.” 

Noct’s grin widened. “Gotta keep my bodyguards on their toes, right?” He elbowed Prompto in the ribs, then slid his hand down Prompto’s arm, slow enough that Prompto could have pulled away if he wanted. Noct had always been respectful of Prompto’s desire not to have his wrist touched, after an awkward incident early on in their friendship when he’d grabbed Prompto’s right wrist in excitement and Prompto had flinched away so hard he’d spilled his soda. Now, though, Noct’s touch was cautious, his grey eyes fixed on Prompto’s face. 

It took everything Prompto had not to run away screaming when Noct’s fingers brushed over the exposed barcode, and he had a sudden flashback to last night, when Future Noctis had first wrapped the gauze in place of his wristband. Prompto had been too in shock then, too terrified of everything that had just happened, to protest, but Future Noctis had been as gentle and careful as Noct was being now. After a moment, Noctis said, almost shyly, “So, I was going to - I mean, this was supposed to be a graduation present, but it got here three days ago and… well, you can’t wear a bandage over this forever, right?” 

“Huh?” Prompto said intelligently. He was still trying not to freak out that the _Crown Prince of Lucis_ was touching his barcode, and couldn’t figure out what Noct was talking about. 

“Here.” Blue magic glittered in Noct’s free hand, solidifying into an elegant black box about four inches square. The Lucis Caelum crest was embossed on the top in silver, with a smaller maker’s logo on the side - and Prompto realized with a start that it was _actually_ silver, not just colored foil. He recognized the logo: Insomnia’s most elite jeweler, who only worked for the Lucis Caelums and a handful of the highest-ranking aristocracy. Noct turned Prompto’s hand over and pressed the box into it. “I don’t know if we’re going to graduate anymore, so, uh. Happy Crownsguard induction?” 

Prompto stared at him. Everyone at school knew the Crown Prince wasn’t allowed to give or receive gifts except under very specific circumstances. There were even laws about it, which Prompto had spent weeks researching before approaching Noct for the first time, to make sure he wouldn’t get arrested if he offered him the cookie from his school lunch. Some of the students in their class griped about it, because it meant their year couldn’t do any of the traditional holiday gift exchanges, though Noctis himself had never seemed to care one way or the other. 

Noct nudged the box at him again, so Prompto cautiously tugged the lid off. Inside was an intricate bracelet made of royal-black leather, as wide as his old wristband had been, with criss-crossing straps studded with black metal. “Whoa,” Prompto breathed, and pulled the bracelet out, barely noticing when Noctis dismissed the box back into the armory. The leather was soft on the underside but sturdy on the outside, the metal studs gleaming almost silver in the bright sunlight. The buckle was carved with the Caelum skull and crossbones, and abruptly Prompto remembered one of those specific circumstances under which Noctis was allowed to give gifts: royal favors, a sign that a member of the royal family held the recipient in high esteem. 

“I was going to try to have all the paperwork done before I gave it to you,” Noctis said in a rush, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “So all you’d have to do is sign some forms. That’s why I got it made so early. But I guess we’ll have to do those whenever we get back, or… something. Uh… all the metal’s mythril,” he added. “And the leather’s reinforced. You don’t have to worry about damaging it or anything, you’d practically have to drop it in a blender before you’d hurt it. The strap is really adjustable, too, and I had them make it to match the width of your wristband ‘cause I figured that’s what you liked, and... Could you please say something?” 

Prompto was still staring in awe at the bracelet, so that last bit took a second to register. When it did, he looked up at Noct, aware that he had the biggest dumb grin on his face and also tears in his eyes. “This is _awesome!_ ” he said, and flung his arms around Noctis. Noct hugged him back hard enough that his ribs creaked, and Prompto’s _thank you_ came out in a wheeze against Noct’s shoulder. 

“Try it on,” Noct urged, and let Prompto go, his hands hovering around the bracelet like he wanted to put it on Prompto himself. 

Prompto laughed, wrapping it around his wrist over the barcode and buckling it in place. The leather bracelet was heavier than his old fabric wristband, a solid and reassuring presence on his arm. He could still see the lines of the barcode between the leather straps if he looked closely enough, but to his surprise he found he didn’t care. Anyone looking at the bracelet would only notice that it was a Caelum favor. The barcode underneath didn’t matter, just like Noct had said. 

“It’s perfect,” he said, holding up his wrist for Noct to see. “Thanks, buddy. I mean it.” 

“Of course,” Noctis said with a laugh. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight and Prompto thought he might be blushing - but then, he almost never got to give anyone gifts. Noct flung an arm around Prompto’s shoulders, turning them both back toward the haven. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s make you a Crownsguard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cribbed some of the ideas around Prompto's bracelet being a royal favor from audreyskdramablog's excellent [Emergency Protocols](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1143839) series. And I cribbed the idea of there being laws about the prince giving gifts from spending way too much time working in government-adjacent industries.


	17. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adult Gladio teaches Young Prompto to use the armory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked on my other fic if chapter titles were helpful and the answer was a pretty resounding "yes", so I added chapter titles to this fic too.

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

“That’s it,” Future Gladio said encouragingly. “You got this.” 

Prompto gritted his teeth, willing himself to focus. The sun was pounding on his head, on every exposed inch of skin, and he felt sweat dripping down his back between his shoulder blades - all distractions, and he shoved them aside, reaching once again into that nebulous blue space where Noct’s magic lived. Started to close his eyes, then remembered Future Gladio warning him about that three tries ago. He fixed his gaze on a rock in the distance instead, and reached deeper into the armory. Blue crystals danced around his hand in a vaguely gun-shaped cloud.

“C’mon,” Future Gladio said. “Just a little more.” 

Prompto swayed with the effort and the heat, and Future Gladio rested a massive hand on his back. Prompto let himself brace against the touch, taking a deep breath. The crystalline cloud still surrounded his hand and with one final, monumental effort, he yanked the gun into full existence. 

“Attaboy,” Future Gladio said. His hand shifted from Prompto’s back to grip his shoulder and give him a little shake. “Good work.” 

“I didn’t—” Prompto gasped. The world swayed for a second and he blinked until it came back into focus. “Didn’t realize it was this hard. You guys make it look effortless.” 

Future Gladio chuckled. “We’ve been doing it a lot longer than you have. It does get easier with practice.” 

“I hope so,” Prompto muttered. The gun was heavy in his hand, but he forced himself to keep his arm out straight. The last time he’d managed to summon the gun, he’d let his hand fall to his side immediately under its weight, and Future Gladio had called him on it. “You want me to do it again?” 

“Not just yet,” Future Gladio said. He pressed down gently on Prompto’s shoulder, steering him to sit on the high stone edge of the haven. “Take a break.” 

Prompto went, gladly, kicking his feet over the edge and setting the gun carefully across his knees as Future Gladio sat beside him. Prompto stretched, arching his back and rolling his neck, working out the kinks of concentration. Across the haven, Future Ignis sat in one of the camp chairs, his mirrored glasses gone and his face tilted up to the sun. His hands worked with a knife and a small piece of wood, whittling it into a delicate shape. Noctis was sleeping in the tent; the fifteen-minute process of linking Prompto to the royal armory had worn him out. After spending the last two hours learning how to summon a weapon out of the armory, Prompto understood why. 

Future Gladio plucked the gun from Prompto’s lap and dismissed it into the armory in a shower of blue. “Name the parts of your gun,” he said. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a break,” Prompto joked, and was rewarded by a crinkling in the corners of Future Gladio’s eyes. Prompto had been nervous to the point of nausea when Future Gladio had first said he was going to teach Prompto to use the armory - the guy was huge, and grim, and Prompto hadn’t forgotten the danger he’d radiated that morning. But Future Gladio was turning out to be a much kinder and more patient teacher than Prompto had expected, and now Prompto had almost gotten a smile out of him. “Um,” Prompto said, thinking. “Trigger, hammer, barrel, uh… cylinder release, trigger guard…” 

“Three more,” Future Gladio prompted. 

Prompto tried to pull up a mental image of the gun, one of Future Prompto’s spares. Future Gladio had shown him all the major parts at the beginning of the training session. “Sight?” he guessed. “Muzzle.” 

“And?” 

Prompto thought about it for a minute more, then finally shook his head. “I got nothin’.” 

“Ejector rod,” Future Gladio supplied. “Not bad.” 

Prompto ducked his head to hide the blush burning across his cheeks. “Thanks.” 

“My Prompto will cover a lot more when he teaches you how to care for it,” Future Gladio continued. “But it’ll help to have the major parts down. Now see if you can summon it behind your head.” 

Prompto frowned at him. “Isn’t it kinda early for trick shots?” 

“Not a trick shot,” Future Gladio corrected. “You’re using the visual of the magic to help you summon. You won’t always have that. But you can’t get into the habit of closing your eyes to summon, so behind the head it is.” 

“Oh.” Prompto looked down at his hand, remembering the glitter of magic slowly forming into the shape of a gun. “Can you summon yours behind your head?” 

It was a dumb question - the only person who’d be better with the royal summoning magic than a Shield would be the king he protected - but Future Gladio just shrugged. “Sure.” He reached a hand over his shoulder, and blue crystals coalesced into his enormous greatsword. Prompto had seen it earlier, when Future Gladio had first been showing him how to call his weapon, but it still awed him. The slab of metal was the size of Prompto’s whole body, yet Future Gladio wielded it like it weighed nothing. He swung it around from behind his shoulder to the front of his body, then let it vanish in a flash of blue. “You don’t picture it out here,” Future Gladio said, tapping the back of Prompto’s hand. “You picture it in here.” A tap to Prompto’s temple. 

“Right.” Prompto held a hand behind his head, closed his eyes and then opened them again before Future Gladio could say anything, and reached into that nebulous blue space - only for the magic to slip right between his mental fingers. He gritted his teeth and tried again, straining, feeling a headache pounding to life at the base of his skull. Pictured the gun in his hand with all his might, imagining the shape of it, the gleam of sunlight off the barrel, the weight of it dragging his arm down—

Prompto blinked. He was on his back looking straight up at the brilliant blue sky overhead, and his arm felt strange and heavy. He felt like he’d missed something, but his head was throbbing and he couldn’t think straight. Future Gladio leaned over him, expression concerned. “You okay, kid?” 

“Fine,” Prompto said. He tried to sit up, and the ground swayed sickeningly. 

Future Gladio rested a hand on Prompto’s chest. “Stay there a bit. You overdid it.”

“I’m fine,” Prompto insisted. He tried again to lever himself upright, but Future Gladio’s hand might as well have been an iron bar for all he could move it, and the effort did nothing but increase the pounding in his head. He collapsed back against the stone of the haven and sighed. “ _Dammit_.” 

“It’s okay,” Future Gladio said. “You’re doing good. It just takes time to get used to it.” 

“I don’t _have_ time,” Prompto protested. “We’re out here. That Ardyn guy came after me once already. Someone said last night he’s going to keep using me to get Noctis to do what he wants. And Noct is gonna—” 

He cut himself off before he said anything he shouldn’t. Future Gladio, who’d twisted to shoot Future Ignis a dirty look when Prompto had mentioned Ardyn using him, turned back to Prompto. “Noct is gonna what?” 

“Nothing,” Prompto said, too quickly, then sighed. Future Gladio’s face said clearly that he was a _terrible_ liar. “It’s just…” Prompto shot a quick glance over at the tent; Noctis was probably out cold but he lowered his voice anyway. “I think Noct’s going to… going to go ahead with the whole.” He waved a hand vaguely, not wanting to even say it out loud. “You know. If that’s what it takes to stop the daemons….” 

Future Gladio sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he muttered. 

Prompto tried to laugh, but it came out weak and kind of bitter. “So I… I have to make sure I’m ready,” he said. “I have to keep Noct from…” He made himself force the words out, because if Noct could think about _doing_ it, then Prompto could at least _say_ it. “From killing himself.” 

He’d expected Future Gladio to give him some fancy speech ripped straight from a sports movie about how you couldn’t push yourself to exhaustion, resting was better for you in the long run, you had to pace yourself to improve, blah blah - so it caught him off guard when instead Future Gladio hunched forward over his knees, his hands clasped and his head bowed. Worried, Prompto pushed himself up onto his elbows despite the way the world spun around him. 

“Thing is,” Future Gladio said softly, “Everyone thinks the kid’s a pushover. Even Regis - it’s why he babied him forever. But Noct’s got a stubborn streak the size of Ghorovas Rift. He decides he’s gonna do something, it’s like the whole world rearranges itself to make it happen.” 

From the corner of his eye, Prompto saw that Future Ignis, too, had lowered his head, his hands gone still in his lap. He thought about the conversation that morning, Gladio’s accusation that their future selves were just going to let Future Noctis die. The way they’d all reacted, but especially Future Gladio, whose entire life was supposed to be dedicated to keeping Noctis alive. “Your Noctis decided, huh?” he asked softly. 

Future Gladio nodded. Across the haven, Future Ignis’s eyes had fallen closed, grief written in the lines of his face. Prompto wanted to say something, but just like that morning he didn’t know what. It wasn’t as though words would help, anyway. 

Before he could think of anything, Future Gladio said, his voice hoarse, “So, yeah. You’re right, you gotta get ready. Make sure you can out-stubborn him when the time comes.” 

“I will,” Prompto promised. 

“Good.” Future Gladio sat up, and Prompto pretended not to notice the bright shine to his eyes as he ruffled Prompto’s hair. “So try that again. Behind your head.” 

“Right.” Ignoring the headache pounding spikes into the base of his skull, Prompto sat up and reached behind his head, straining once again into the nebulous blue.

* * *

Ten minutes, two more near-faints, and one unpleasant bout of nausea later, Prompto managed to summon the gun behind his head. He gasped with relief as it landed in his hand, then let the weight of it pull him backward to flop down on the rock once more. “I did it,” he panted. 

Future Gladio held up a hand and Prompto gave him a weak high-five. “Good work,” Future Gladio said. “Knew you could do it.” 

“Thanks,” Prompto said. “I’m just… gonna lay here a minute.” 

“You do that,” Future Gladio said. “The others should be back soon, anyway.” 

“Actually,” Future Ignis cut in from across the haven, “I believe I hear them now.” 

“Yeah?” Prompto sat up - or tried to; the world spun around and he decided that discretion was the better part of not puking. 

Future Gladio squinted out into the afternoon sun. “Yeah, there’s the—” Then he shot to his feet. “That’s not the van.” 

Future Ignis stood as well, and Prompto struggled up onto his elbows enough to follow Future Gladio’s gaze. Sure enough, a baby-blue sedan was trundling toward them across the sand, though after a moment Prompto spotted their big black van trailing behind it, half-hidden in the dust kicked up by the wheels. “There’s two of them.” 

By the time Prompto managed to get the rest of the way to his feet, both the sedan and the van had reached the haven, parking side by side at the base of the ramp. Ignis climbed out of the sedan, while Future Prompto jumped down from the cab of the van and Gladio emerged from the back. 

“Where’s Noct?” Future Gladio demanded. 

“Back of the van,” Future Prompto said as he and the others made their way up the ramp. He looked grim - actually, all of them did, and Future Gladio didn’t look reassured. Future Prompto added, “We’ve got a whole lotta problems, starting with Noct’s got a big-ass gash on his hip.” 

Future Gladio hissed between his teeth and took a couple of steps forward, but Future Ignis beat him to it. He shouldered past him and was halfway down the ramp toward the van before Future Prompto’s next words were out: “We bandaged it up, but aside from the blood loss, he burned a whole lotta power, so he’s still out.” 

“Doing what?” Future Gladio said.

“Igs, better get back here,” Future Prompto said, and Future Ignis paused at the bottom of the ramp. Future Prompto glanced around, then added, “And someone find the baby prince. You all need to hear this.” 

“What. Happened?” Future Gladio growled.

Future Prompto sighed. “Noct took on General Glauca and the whole gods-damned Kingsglaive.”

“What?!” 

“Better pull up a chair,” Future Prompto said tiredly. “You’re not gonna believe this.”


	18. Regret and Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some long-overdue conversations.

** Noctis (Age 30) **

* * *

Silence hung heavy in the back of the van, an oppressive weight after an hour of the van’s heavy-duty engine growling, its tires rumbling over the gravel of the road. Noctis buried his face in the crook of his arm where it was tucked under his head. He wanted to curl in on himself, but the wound on his hip ached too badly to sit up, and the bench seat was too narrow for him to do anything except lay stretched out on his side. The memory of Drautos’s - Glauca’s - Drautos’s face, battered and bloody, swam behind his eyelids, and nausea at what he’d done to the man swam in his stomach. 

The van’s rear door creaked open, the sound of it somehow gentle enough that Noctis knew who it was before Ignis spoke: “Noct.”

Ignis’s voice was gentle but firm, like the hand that gripped first Noctis’s ankle, then his shoulder as Ignis worked out where he was. Noct didn’t answer; he didn’t want to be conscious and was still hoping that if he stayed lying on the bench seat long enough, his body would get the message and pass out again. 

“Noct,” Ignis said again. “I know you’re awake.” A hesitation, then, “Talk to me. Please.” 

“No,” Noctis muttered. It was childish and entirely unbefitting of the king he was supposed to be, but he didn’t feel very kingly right now. Mostly he felt like a kid who’d lost his dad. 

“Prompto told us what happened,” Ignis said. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Ignis sighed. His hand ghosted down Noct’s side, avoiding the bandage over his hip with uncanny intuition, and settled on Noct’s leg, then Ignis sat down on the bench seat in the small space in the bend of Noct’s knees. Only then did his hand go back to the bandage, fingers carefully tracing Young Gladio’s handiwork. But despite the fear Noct had seen in Young Gladio’s eyes whenever he looked at Noctis, the kid’s field medic skills were book-perfect. After a moment Ignis’s hand returned to Noct’s leg. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, waiting. 

Noctis cracked first, as they both knew he would. “He said he was my dad’s most loyal servant,” Noct muttered, the words muffled from his face being buried in his elbow. 

“Captain Drautos,” Ignis said. “Glauca.” 

Noct nodded. 

“That’s not what you’re really upset about.” 

Noct sighed. Even after ten years apart, even without his sight, Ignis could still see right through him. “I… I wanted to kill him, Specs. And—Not just _kill_ him. I wanted him to…” His voice hitched. “For what he did. But under that Stars-damned mask, he’s still… still Titus Drautos. And I…” The nausea bubbled up from his stomach again and he swallowed it down before it could choke him. “He killed my dad,” he whispered. “Why am I the one who feels guilty?”

“Because you’re a better man than he could ever hope to be,” Ignis answered. His voice was quiet, but firm as steel.

“Am I?” Guilt wrapped around Noct’s throat once more. “I don’t even - I don’t know if I killed him.” 

“Would knowing change how you felt?” 

“I don’t know,” Noctis admitted. 

“Then perhaps it’s not only Glauca you feel guilt for,” Ignis said.

And there it was, the thing Noctis had spent the entire drive trying not to think about, ever since he’d woken when Young Gladio was carrying him from the stolen car into the back of the van. He didn’t want to put it in words, but he didn’t want to lie to Ignis, either. “It…” he whispered, then had to stop to gather the strength to push the words out. “It could have been Prompto.” 

He felt Ignis’s flinch through the hand on his leg, the press of Ignis’s hip against the back of his knees. Ignis’s voice was carefully blank as he asked, “What do you mean?” 

“On the train,” Noctis said. Guilt and shame burned his skin, hotter than Ifrit’s fire had ever been. “On the way to Tenebrae, when Ardyn made Prompto look like him and I—I almost—” 

“Ten years ago,” Ignis murmured.

“It feels like just a couple weeks for me,” Noctis said. “A couple of _weeks_ since I—” His voice shook, the words pouring out of him like blood. “If the train hadn’t stopped when it did, I would’ve done to Prompto what I did to Drautos, thinking he was Ardyn. Except Prompto didn’t have any armor. I would’ve—I would’ve—” 

“You didn’t,” Ignis said.

Noct shook his head, burying his face harder against his arm. “But I was going to,” he whispered. “Everything I said, and then I _did_ attack him, I threw him off the train and left him for Ardyn to…” He trailed off, the image of Prompto hanging broken in a Zegnautus cell burning in his memory. “I don’t know why he didn’t run the other way when I came back.” 

Ignis’s hand tightened on Noct’s leg. “He knows what happened. He knows why Ardyn targeted him. And he knows you risked everything to find him again.” 

“But—”

“Noct,” Ignis interrupted gently. “For you it feels like just a few weeks, but for us - for Prompto - it’s been ten years. He’s had more than enough time to choose to walk away, but he hasn’t. Have you thought about asking _him_ why?”

Noctis shook his head. “If he’s only here because he has to be, then I… I don’t want to…” 

There was a very long, very loaded pause. “Do you think,” Ignis said carefully, “that Gladio and I are only here because we have to be?” 

“Aren’t you?” Noctis said bitterly. “Neither of you would have been mixed up in all this if you hadn’t been assigned to me. Gladio wouldn’t have all those scars. You would still be able to _see_ —” 

“You are _not_ responsible for what happened to my eyes—”

But Noct kept talking - he needed Ignis to hear this, needed him to _understand_. “Kid Gladio’s terrified of me. I saw it - he saw what I did to Drautos and now he thinks I’m some kind of monster.” That had been worse than the pain of the cut in his hip, seeing the way Young Gladio flinched every time Noctis moved, the way he refused to meet Noctis’s eyes. “And every time Kid-You looks at you—” 

“Noct,” Ignis interrupted him again, his voice fierce, and shook him with the hand still on Noct’s leg. “Listen to me. I made my own choices in Altissia, as I made my own choice when Umbra told us you’d returned. So did Gladio. So did Prompto. Yes, you are our king, and we your retainers, but have you forgotten what Cid once told you? I still remember it after ten years, so I should hope you remember after only a few weeks.” 

_ Those ain’t your bodyguards, _ Cid had said. The memory of it made him shudder.  _They’re your brothers. Trust in ’em. Always._

Two nights ago Noct had dared to believe that was still true, that they were still his brothers. He’d had the arrogance to believe nothing had changed in the decade he’d been gone. But in the day and a half since, he’d seen what they were when they weren’t just escorting him to his death - how far they’d come from the brothers he’d left behind. Seeing their younger selves had only driven the point further home. 

“It’s no less true now than it was ten years ago,” Ignis said, as if reading Noctis’s mind. “And it was no less true twelve years ago for our younger selves. Frightened though they may be, I know just how much they care about you. Not because you’re our king, but because you’re our brother.”

Ignis moved, then, reaching down to gently manhandle Noctis into a sitting position, tucked against Ignis’s side. The arm he wrapped around Noctis was solid and warm, as was his voice when he added, “We’re here because we want to be, Noct. We’ll walk this path with you to the very end, whether that end is what the Cosmogony decrees, or a new one we forge here.” 

Noctis nodded. He didn’t trust his voice just then, didn’t think he could get words past the lump in his throat. 

“Good.” Ignis produced a handkerchief from somewhere and handed it to Noct, clearly considering the matter settled. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes.” 

As usual, Ignis was right about that. Noct’s black jeans were ruined thanks to the six-inch-long slice through the fabric, and both the jeans and his white T-shirt were spattered with blood. Noctis wasn’t sure how much of it was his own and how much was Drautos’s, and he firmly shut down that thought before any of the competing threads of guilt could choke him again. Instead, he made himself let go of Ignis and maneuver carefully to his feet, testing whether his wounded hip would hold his weight. It hurt, but held, so Noctis stripped out of his destroyed clothes and pulled on the royal raiment Ignis drew from the armory. 

Ignis was patting him down, hands finding and smoothing even the smallest wrinkles, when a sudden loud, cheerful tune made them both jump. Noct’s hand moved on reflex, pulling a phone from a pocket of the jacket. Then he stopped and stared at it for a couple of seconds before remembering it was Young Prompto’s phone, which Noctis had picked up last night. 

“Who is it?” Ignis asked, jolting him back to the present. 

“Unlisted number,” Noctis said. “Probably some robocall.” The call clicked over to voicemail and Noctis was about to put the phone away when it began ringing again. 

“Or His Majesty,” Ignis said mildly. “Our younger selves’ phones have been off this whole time, but the king may have realized we have Prompto’s phone. It’s likely he’s heard about what happened at Hammerhead.”

And the phone had been in the armory, out of cell range, until just now when Ignis pulled out the suit jacket whose pocket it had been in. Noctis winced. “Shit.” 

“Are you going to answer?” 

Noctis sighed. “I probably should, huh?” 

The phone clicked over to voicemail, the ringing pausing just long enough for the caller to disconnect and redial. Noctis started to answer, but Ignis caught his wrist. “Noct,” he said. “Remember that you are King now. The man on the other end of the line is not your father, but an ally, an equal.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis muttered, and thumbed the _answer_ button, then the speakerphone. 

Immediately, an unfamiliar voice said, “This is the office of His Royal Majesty King Regis Lucis Caelum. Please hand the phone to King Noctis Lucis Caelum immediately.” 

Despite what Ignis had just said, the idea of speaking to his father - alternate timeline or no - as an equal was daunting, but somehow the operator’s words made it easier. Regis was acknowledging Noctis as an equal, too, and even if it was meant only to distinguish Noctis from his younger counterpart, it also meant Regis couldn’t back down from it later. “This is King Noctis,” he said, ignoring how odd the words felt on his tongue. “Please connect me to King Regis.”

“Thank you,” the operator said. “One moment.” 

During the pause, Noctis sank back down onto the bench seat. His hip ached, and there was no need to stand for this call. Ignis sat beside him, and since there was no one around to see, Noctis let himself lean against Ignis’s side. It wasn’t very kingly of him, but he hadn’t been very kingly today anyway.

Finally the phone clicked, then Regis said, “Noctis.” 

_ He’s an equal _ , Noctis reminded himself firmly. “Regis.” 

A pause; Noctis could practically hear Regis recalculating his approach. The king said, “My Kingsglaive reported that they encountered you at Hammerhead.” His voice was utterly neutral, the polite and formal tone of King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII instead of _Dad_. 

Noctis made himself respond in exactly the same level tone. “Niflheim’s General Glauca attempted to take my companions and me into custody. I chose not to submit.”

“You very nearly killed him,” Regis answered, a hint of incredulity or maybe exasperation creeping into his voice. Despite that, and despite what he’d told Ignis earlier, Noctis felt one of the tight bands of guilt in his chest ease. He hadn’t killed Drautos after all. 

Ignis’s arm, wrapped around Noctis’s shoulders again, tightened: a show of support, but also a reminder. Noctis bit his tongue, drawing on years of etiquette and diplomacy lessons, as well as some of the dirtier tricks he’d picked up from watching both Ignis and Regis himself. Regis hadn’t asked a question, so Noctis didn’t need to say anything in response.

Thank all the Astrals, Regis cracked half a second before Noctis would have. “You also sealed the Crystal’s magic away from the Kingsglaive.” 

Still not a question, and after another long pause, Regis sighed. “Would you please lift the seal? I appreciate your choice to remove them from the fighting without causing harm, but neither Niflheim nor the daemons have stopped being a threat.” 

Noctis blinked. In all honesty, he hadn’t even realized he was still blocking the Kingsglaive. It took only a moment’s concentration to undo, and he said to the phone, “There, it’s done.” 

“Thank you,” Regis said. “Noctis, I said I would deal with Drautos when he returned to Insomnia. Why did you take matters into your own hands?” 

That wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, not with this Regis, who was alive and whole and hadn’t died drowning in his own blood with Drautos’s sword through his chest. Noctis said evenly, “I told you. He attempted to take us into custody.” 

Ignis must have picked up on Noct’s unease. “If you’ll pardon the interruption,” he spoke up, “I have a question about that, Your Majesty.” 

“Councilor Scientia,” Regis said. It wasn’t the right title, technically - Noctis didn’t have a council for Ignis to be a member of - but it would serve well enough. “What is it?” 

“According to Glaive Argentum, Glauca said he was told our party would likely be in Hammerhead,” Ignis said. “Told by whom?” 

Noctis glanced up at Ignis, startled. That was a good question, actually - this Regis had no reason to know they’d even left Insomnia, much less gone to Hammerhead. Had the Crownsguard been tracking Young Prompto’s phone that closely, before Noctis dropped it into the armory with his clothes this morning? But the pause on the other end of the line told him it wasn’t that simple. 

Then Regis sighed again. “Late last night, a man calling himself Ardyn Izunia approached the Crownsguard stationed at the Citadel.”

“Ardyn,” Noctis repeated in disbelief. 

“He asked to meet with me,” Regis said. “I declined to meet in person, of course, but he allowed himself to be taken into custody, and we spoke over the phone. He told me you and your companions used Hammerhead as a base of operations in your own time, and suggested you would likely return there after what happened last night.” 

“Why?” Noctis demanded. “What does he want?” 

“He claims he only wishes to see you returned to the Crown City, so that you and he can return to your own timeline,” Regis said, and Noctis was grateful to hear the skepticism in his tone. He wouldn’t put it past Ardyn to manage to smooth-talk Regis into blind cooperation even with everything Regis now knew. 

Ignis tilted his head, a question in the lift of his eyebrows. Noctis said to the phone, “Tell him we’ll come back, but only when we’re ready. We have some things to take care of first.” 

“Noctis—”

“Be careful with him,” Noctis interrupted. He didn’t want to get into another argument with Regis about what Young Noctis planned to do to change the future. “Ardyn is dangerous, and he’ll only stay in custody until he gets bored. Don’t trust a word he says.”

“Dangerous, yes,” Regis said, “but he told us the truth about where you would be.” 

“Your Majesty, anything Ardyn Izunia does serves Ardyn, and Ardyn alone,” Ignis cut in. “If he arranged the encounter between Noctis and Glauca, it’s because doing so furthers his own goals.” 

“I don’t see how,” Regis answered. “Other than speeding your return to the Crown City and your own timeline. Which,” he added pointedly, “I had understood to be your goal, as well.” 

“Yeah, well, things changed,” Noctis said. “We’ll come back to Insomnia once we’ve made sure it won’t be destroyed in two years.” 

“Please don’t misunderstand me, Noctis,” Regis said. “I’m grateful for the information you’ve provided about what we must expect in the coming years, and I appreciate your concern for our safety. But I cannot allow you to encourage my son to run wild and unprotected outside the Wall.”

“I’m not encouraging him to do anything,” Noctis said. “You heard him last night. This is his idea.” 

“Then I would enlist your help in convincing him why it’s a _bad_ one,” Regis answered testily. 

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I don’t believe that,” Noctis said. “It’s his idea, but I think it’s a good one, and I intend to do everything I can to help him see it through.” 

“He’s a _child_ ,” Regis snapped. “He’s too young for such things.”

“Too young?” Noctis repeated. “When will he be old enough?” Regis started to answer but Noctis cut him off. “When he’s twenty and you sell him in marriage in that sham of a peace treaty? When the Niffs destroy Insomnia and he finds out from a newspaper? When the Crystal drags him kicking and screaming away from his friends? When Bahamut tells him he was never supposed to be a king after all, just a _sacrifice?_ Or maybe when he’s thirty and walking to his—”

Ignis put a hand on Noct’s arm, half comfort, half warning, and Noctis bit off the last word. He was breathing too hard, and the rage he thought he’d burned out on Drautos had begun to bubble at the back of his mind. He shoved it down with all his might. He couldn’t lose himself like that again. It was too dangerous. 

On the phone, Regis said, his voice deceptively calm, “Do not attribute to me the mistakes made by someone else.”

“It wasn’t someone else,” Noctis said. “It was another timeline, but it was still _you_.” 

Silence for a long, aching minute. Then Regis said, very quietly, “You have not forgiven your own father for that, have you.” 

Ignis’s grip on Noctis’s arm tightened. Noctis didn’t answer. 

Regis sighed, and Noctis imagined him rubbing a hand down his beard, the usual giveaway for just how upset he was. “You’re as stubborn as your mother,” Regis said softly. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” 

“No,” Noctis said. “There isn’t.” 

“I see,” Regis said, his voice heavy. “I know that to you, this will sound like no more than the platitudes of an old man, but I truly wish to do the best I can for my son. His destiny is a terrible one, and all I ever wanted was to shield him from it for as long as possible. To give him as much as I could of the life the gods would take away.” He sighed again. “Still, I do not want to leave him with the regrets you carry. So the only thing left for me is to ask that you take care of my son, and watch over him on his journey.” 

“I will,” Noctis promised, though his throat had gone suddenly tight. 

“Thank you,” Regis said. “Walk tall... Your Majesty.” 

Grief hit Noctis like a punch to the gut, and it was all he could do to choke out an answer: “Goodbye, Your Majesty.” 

The phone slipped out of his fingers and Ignis somehow caught it, then dismissed it into the armory. “Noct—”

“I’m fine,” Noctis whispered. He wasn’t, not by a long shot, but this was an old and familiar grief. He swallowed it down, packing it away to the same place he’d put it after Insomnia fell, two months and ten years ago. Made himself stand and straighten first his suit jacket, then his spine. “Come on. We’ve got a future to change.”


	19. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys plan their next moves.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

When Noctis crested the ramp up to the top of the haven, he found the two Gladios and Prompto breaking down the camp. Young Noctis sat in one of the camp chairs, the only gear still standing, watching the bustle of activity with the vaguely alarmed expression Noctis recognized as _I should be helping but have no idea where to start._ Meanwhile Young Ignis and—

Noctis did a double-take. Correction, it was _Young_ Prompto helping the Gladios. _Adult_ Prompto was working with Young Ignis to sort the Hammerhead grocery haul. But Prompto in his unfamiliar, battered, grease-stained clothes looked less like the guy Noctis remembered than Young Prompto, in khaki cargo pants and a red tank top with the black wristband, did. 

Young Prompto hadn’t had the wristband when they’d left for Hammerhead, which meant Young Noctis must have given it to him sometime in the last couple of hours. At least now he wouldn’t have to keep wearing a fake bandage over his wrist. Though come to think of it, Noctis hadn’t seen Adult Prompto wearing his own wristband, the one Noctis had given to him as a high school graduation present, since he’d come back from the Crystal.

“—fold that down like that, and it’ll pack up a lot neater than the way the directions say to do it,” Gladio was saying. He glanced up as Noctis and Ignis crested the ramp to the top of the haven, then straightened, leaving the kids to finish packing the tent. Gladio’s expression was grim and cold as he gave Noctis an assessing once-over, and thoughts of Prompto’s wristband vanished from Noct’s mind. He knew that look - Gladio wanted to rip him a new one for taking on Drautos and the Kingsglaive. 

But Noct couldn’t deal with it right now, not after that phone call with ( _his dad_ ) King Regis. He caught Gladio’s eye, trying to put _not now, not in front of the kids_ in his expression. 

Thank all the Astrals, Gladio just grunted and said, “We figured we’d be moving on one way or another, so better pack up.” 

“Right,” Noctis said. He dropped into the chair next to his younger self; his hip ached and he was more relieved than he wanted to admit that he wasn’t about to get a dressing-down. “About that. I just spoke with King Regis and—”

“You talked to my dad?” Young Noctis interrupted. “How? I thought we were keeping our phones off so he couldn’t find us.” He sat up straighter, looking around as though he expected Regis and a contingent of Crownsguard to pop out of the desert sand. 

Noctis nodded and motioned the others closer. They gathered around him, Gladio taking one of the remaining two camp chairs with Prompto perched on his knee again, Young Prompto settling against Young Noctis’s legs, and Young Gladio taking up his spot protectively behind his prince. There was a brief, subtle argument over who would have to sit in the last chair, which was settled by Ignis pretending to be literally blind to the issue and standing at Noct’s shoulder, while Young Noctis glared at Young Ignis and jerked his head at the chair. Young Ignis sat reluctantly; it was clear he felt he ought to be standing behind his prince as his older self was, but Noctis could sympathize with his own younger self’s desire not to have so many people looming over him. 

When everyone was settled, Noctis gave them a summary of his conversation with Regis, starting with Young Prompto’s phone being in the armory and Regis apparently trying to call it all morning. But when he got to the part about Ardyn, he was interrupted by a chorus of outcries. He raised a hand for quiet, and the silence that immediately fell was startling. Right, he was the king here. He had to get used to acting like it, and having his friends respond in kind.

 _Why bother?_ a bitter little voice whispered in his head. _You won’t be king long. Just until you give in to Ardyn’s demands and go home to die—_

 _Not now_ , he reminded himself firmly. Right now he had to focus on the present, on the future of a younger version of himself who maybe, just maybe, _wouldn’t_ have to die. Pushing the bitter voice to the back of his mind along with all the grief and the rage, Noctis said, “The short version is that Ardyn wants us back in the Crown City, so we can go with him back to our own time. He tried to get Regis to help with that, which is why the Kingsglaive knew to look for us in Hammerhead.” 

Prompto nodded to himself, as though he’d been wondering the same thing. Young Noctis spoke up again: “Will you? Go back to the Crown City, I mean.” 

Noct shook his head. “I promised to help you change your future. Ardyn’s waited two thousand years, he can wait a few more weeks while we fix things here.” 

“You think it’ll take that long?” Young Noctis asked, looking suddenly uncertain. “Weeks?” 

“Did you think changing the future would be easy?” Young Ignis asked dryly. 

“Not just the future,” Gladio added. “Changing the whole Cosmogony. The gods’ plan. They ain’t gonna like that much.” 

Young Gladio gave a disdainful sniff. “So? The gods fucked off thousands of years ago. What’re they going to do if they don’t like it?”

Right, none of the kids had seen the gods in the flesh yet. Noctis sighed and opened his mouth, but Gladio beat him to it. Raising an eyebrow at his younger counterpart, he said. “Pretty sure we told you last night about how Leviathan leveled Altissia. They can do a lot, if they get pissed enough.” 

“I thought…” Young Gladio faltered under his older self’s stare. “I thought you were being metaphorical. You said the Imperials were there…” 

“Come now, Gladio,” Young Ignis said. He adjusted his glasses, though the gesture wasn’t enough to mask the glance he threw in Noct’s direction. “You’re telling me you saw what Noctis is - or will be - capable of, and still don’t think the gods will be equally impressive?” 

Young Noctis glanced between Young Ignis and Noctis, his expression saying clearly that he wanted to know what he would supposedly be capable of. Which was exactly what Noctis _didn’t_ want to talk about. Trying to drag the discussion back on track, he said, “We won’t know what the gods will do until they do it. In the meantime, we proceed as though they won’t interfere. If and when they decide to speak up, we’ll deal with it.” 

“That leaves the real question,” Gladio said. “What, exactly, we’re gonna do to change things.” 

“The way I see it,” Ignis said, in his I’ve-been-thinking-about-this-for-hours tone, “we need to accomplish two things to stand a chance at upending destiny: we must prevent the Empire from conquering Insomnia, and we must get Prince Noctis and the Lady Lunafreya together. If anyone can help us alter the Cosmogony, it will be the gods’ own Oracle.” 

Young Noctis nodded emphatically at that. “We need to rescue Luna,” he said. “If we can just get her away from the Imperials, then she and I can… can figure _something_ out.” 

“Saving the Oracle’ll be easy enough,” Gladio said. “Saving Insomnia’s gonna be harder.”

“You think so?” Noctis asked. “Glauca’s not going to be a problem anymore.”

“No,” Gladio agreed. “But I saw the reports of the giant magitek daemon-thing the Niffs deployed against the Kingsglaive, the one they used to force Regis to capitulate.” He shook his head, his expression grim. “That’s what they used on Insomnia, too.” 

“Several of them,” Ignis said, equally grim. “Glauca will not be able to facilitate the turning of the Kingsglaive, perhaps, but he and they were only a single factor in the fall of Insomnia. Whether or not Regis agrees to a peace treaty now, the Empire can use their magitek weapons to lay siege to the city - or hold the rest of the country hostage.” 

Noctis winced. He, too, had seen the reports of the giant magitek weapon, when his father had first told him about the peace treaty. Regis could barely hold the Wall as it was; under a sustained assault from such a weapon, the strain of trying to maintain the Wall would kill him before the Imperials even got close. Noctis might be able to throw his own strength into the Wall, but that, too, would be a battle of attrition and everyone knew who would lose. “We can’t let the Niffs get to the point of attacking,” he said. “If we do that, it’s all over.” 

“They’re already attacking,” Young Gladio pointed out. “The Kingsglaive weren’t deployed for shits and giggles.” 

“Attacking, yes,” Ignis agreed. “But they aren’t mounting the full-scale assault they’re capable of.”

Young Ignis nodded. “The Council has wondered for some time why the Imperials _haven’t_ launched such an assault, given the capabilities of their MT army. There has been talk of the possibility that Niflheim is weaker than they would have us believe.”

“But if they have this giant magitek weapon,” Young Noctis said, “then they’re not weak at all. Why are they waiting?” 

“Because they don’t have the weapon yet,” Prompto spoke up. His voice was hollow, his expression distant and haunted as he rubbed at his wrist under the leather gauntlet that covered his arm from palm to elbow. “It wasn’t finished until right before they used it.” 

“You’re sure about that?” Noctis asked. He didn’t doubt Prompto, but he couldn’t imagine how Prompto could know that, either. 

“Hey—” Gladio started, but Prompto silenced him with a tiny shake of his head. Gladio subsided, albeit with clear reluctance, and settled for resting one massive hand on Prompto’s thigh. 

“When I was in Niflheim,” Prompto said. “The first time, ten years ago. The First Magitek Production Facility... I found Verstael’s notes.” 

_Oh_. Noctis wanted to reach out to him, hook an arm around his shoulders, remind him that whatever Ardyn had done to him after he’d fallen - after Noctis had thrown him - off the train, he was still Noct’s best friend. But once again, Noct’s friends were together, and Noctis was alone. He settled for, “You don’t have to—”

“We need to stop them,” Prompto interrupted. His voice grew stronger, and he straightened his spine, meeting Noct’s eyes. “We destroy the magitek production facilities, we stop Niflheim in their tracks.” 

“If it was that easy,” Young Gladio said, “why hasn’t anyone done it yet?”

“Who said it was easy?” Gladio shot back. “Sure, we’ll just saunter into Niflheim, find their hidden, heavily-guarded factories in the frozen wilds of Vogliupe, and wipe ‘em off the face of the earth.” He gave a derisive snort.

“More to the point,” Young Ignis said slowly, green eyes staring into the distance as he thought, “such an effort _has_ been suggested. Apparently there was at least one successful stealth mission many years ago, and there are some on the Council who think we should try again. But Captain Drautos of the Kingsglaive always speaks out against the idea, claiming it would be too dangerous for too little gain.” 

Both Gladios scoffed in unison, identical angry expressions on their faces. Young Gladio muttered, “I guess now we know why.” 

“So maybe it won’t be _that_ bad,” Young Noctis said, with what Noctis considered an overabundance of optimism. “We go to Niflheim and destroy these factories, then stop by Tenebrae on our way back and rescue Luna.” 

Definitely an overabundance of optimism. “Hold on,” Noctis said to him. “You aren’t going to Niflheim.”

“But—” Young Noctis started to protest, and Noctis held up a hand again to silence him. 

“You’re nowhere near strong or practiced enough to fight ordinary Imperial soldiers, much less MTs or the daemons of Niflheim,” he said. “You need to collect the Royal Arms and get some practice fighting outside the training grounds before you’ll be able to do anything.” 

Young Noctis crossed his arms over his chest, slouching lower in his chair and letting his bangs fall over his eyes. “I thought you were going to help me change the future, not send me to the sidelines like I’m a _kid_.” 

“I’m not sending you to the sidelines—”

“Yes, you are!” Young Noctis burst out. “You’re going to go to Niflheim and stop the Empire and save Luna, and I get to, what? Go to a bunch of dusty old tombs and pray to some dead ancestors?” 

With a monumental effort, Noctis managed not to sigh out loud. No wonder Ignis had been so perpetually exasperated with him when he’d been that age. “You need those Arms,” he said in as measured a voice as he could manage. “And you need the experience fighting. You won’t do Luna any good if you get taken out by a footsoldier at the border of Tenebrae.” 

Young Noctis opened his mouth to interrupt again, but Young Gladio cut in before he managed to say anything: “He’s right, Noct. You ain’t a bad fighter, but…” He hesitated, eyes flicking to Noctis and back before continuing, “Glauca would’ve crumpled you up and tossed you in the trash without even trying hard.”

“Not just you,” Young Ignis added reluctantly. “He could have done the same to Gladio and me as well. I understand your desire to save Lady Lunafreya, but rushing to Tenebrae unprepared will only get us all killed.”

“The four of you are going to get those Arms and learn to fight as a team,” Noctis said, then gestured at his friends. “We’re going to destroy the magitek factories. Once we’ve both done that, we’ll meet up and rescue Luna together. Okay?” 

Somehow Young Noctis managed to slouch even deeper into his chair, but thank all the Stars, he only grumbled, “Fine.” 

“Great,” Noctis said. “We know where to find ten Arms in Lucis - we’ll give you directions for them. There’s an eleventh in Niflheim, which you can worry about later.” 

Young Gladio eyed Noctis. “You have more Arms than that.”

Lunafreya’s trident, and Regis’s sword. “Astrals willing,” Noctis said softly, “he won’t ever get those.” 

Young Ignis very visibly reconsidered asking what he meant. Young Gladio just nodded, his jaw set. He’d had to get through the Armiger to haul Noctis off Glauca, and Noctis couldn’t help but wonder if he’d recognized Regis’s sword. 

“In any case,” Ignis spoke up, smoothing over the moment with his usual tact, “we’ve the beginnings of a plan now. However, we still don’t know our immediate next steps.” 

Noctis could take a hint. “What are you thinking, Iggy?” 

Ignis squared his shoulders and adjusted his tinted glasses. “We need three things: transportation which is neither stolen nor easily identifiable, a place to spend tonight which Ardyn is unlikely to find, and a plan for the four of us to depart Lucis for Niflheim. There is no direct passenger transport between Lucis and Niflheim; on the rare occasion one has a legitimate reason to make such a journey, the only route available is via Accordo. However, we would need travel visas to pass through Accordo, which we do not have and which would require working with the Lucian Travel Authority in Insomnia to acquire. And even if we could acquire visas, that route takes nearly two weeks of travel before we’d even reach central Niflheim to begin our search for the factories.” 

“So we gotta find a way straight to Niflheim,” Gladio said.

“The Imperials are constantly dropping off soldiers and supplies,” Prompto said. “Maybe we could stow away on one of their transports.” He still looked uneasy; Noctis would have to check in with him privately to make sure he was okay with this plan. He couldn’t be looking forward to going back to a place where so many awful things had happened to him. 

“A difficult option, but the most likely one,” Ignis admitted. “The trip between Lestallum and Gralea took roughly thirty-six hours on Aranea’s airship. A larger ship would likely be even faster.” He tapped a finger on his chin, thinking. “An Imperial base will be our best shot at stowing away.” 

“Formouth Garrison?” Noctis suggested. “It’s close to the royal tomb in Keycatrich.”

But Ignis shook his head. “Ardyn correctly predicted we would go to Hammerhead; he’s likely to guess Keycatrich as our next destination based on our route ten years ago.”

“What about Aracheole Stronghold?” Gladio said. “Hell of a drive, but there’s a tomb somewhere around there, too.” 

“That might work,” Noctis said, with a glance at Ignis for confirmation. 

“I suspect it’s our best option,” Ignis agreed. “The nearby tomb is that of the Just, and if I recall correctly, was one of the least painful tombs to reach.” 

“Painful?” Young Noctis repeated uneasily.

“Like I said,” Noctis said dryly, “you aren’t going to the tombs just to collect the Royal Arms. You need to learn how to fight.” 

Young Noctis looked abruptly worried; at his feet, Young Prompto had gone pale. But then Young Prompto swallowed and said brightly, “C’mon, Noct, it’s just like a video game. The hero goes on an epic quest to retrieve the magic weapons. It’ll be fun!”

“Sure,” Young Noctis said; despite his dry tone, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked back at Noctis and Ignis. “So where is this Aracheole Stronghold?” 

“‘Bout a three, four-day drive,” Gladio said.

“Maybe twenty-four hours or so,” Prompto corrected him. “The roads are all still open, remember?” 

Gladio grunted acknowledgement. Noctis traced the route in his head, considering what options they had for night stops. Taking into account that they were traveling west and would therefore get more than the usual amount of sunlight, they could probably make the southern Cauthess rest stop a little after dark, which in turn would get them to the Tomb of the Just probably midafternoon the following day. Then something occurred to him, and he raised an eyebrow at Prompto. “It’s a little out of the way, but we could stop at Wiz’s,” he said. 

He’d been expecting Prompto to light up at that - before Noct had gone into the Crystal, any mention of Wiz’s ranch or the chocobos who lived there had been a foolproof way to win a smile from his best friend - so it threw him when Prompto seemed to barely register the statement. Abruptly uneasy, Noctis prodded, “Prompto? We could see the chocobos.” 

“Chocobos?” Young Prompto demanded, half rising from his seat at Young Noct’s feet before catching himself. “There’s chocobos out here?” 

“They’re a popular mode of transportation in the wilder areas of the country,” Ignis said. “Wiz Forlane maintains a robust rental network.” 

He went on to explain how the rentals worked, but Noctis tuned him out. Prompto had seemed to realize, when Young Prompto spoke up, that he was supposed to be excited, and flashed a smile that was almost painfully forced. “Yeah,” Prompto said to Noctis. “That’d be cool.” 

Noctis made himself smile back, but the gesture felt nearly as fake as Prompto’s had been. The Prompto he’d known had never been able to contain his love for the birds, even in the face of the non-stop nightmare that had been their first journey through the countryside. Even unease about going to Niflheim wouldn’t have quashed his enthusiasm so thoroughly. No, this was yet another of the changes ten years of ruin had wrought in Noct’s best friend, and seeing Prompto like this was another brick in the wall between Noctis and his friends. How many other changes - how many other bricks in that wall - would Noctis have remained blissfully ignorant of, if everything had gone to plan and he’d died two days ago on an abandoned throne?

Gladio touched Prompto’s wrist lightly, and at the same time caught Noctis’s eye. “We’ll draw up the map of the tombs tonight,” he said, “and Igs can figure out how we’re going to stow away on an Imperial transport.” 

Noctis nodded. Pushed his ruminations down deep with everything else he didn’t want to face right now, and turned to his younger self. “Good?” 

“Sounds good,” Young Noctis said. He stood up, glancing over his shoulder at Young Gladio, then down at Young Prompto and over at Young Ignis. “Last chance to back out, guys.”

“No way,” Young Prompto said. He popped to his feet and clapped Young Noctis on the back. “You’re stuck with us, bud.” 

Young Noctis smiled shyly, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair. Noctis glanced at his own friends, but before he could even get the question out, Ignis rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Likewise, my king,” he said softly. 

“Thanks,” Noctis said. He let himself lean into the touch for just a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s go, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun with logistics and travel times! For cross-country travel, I'm mostly eyeballing distances on the Lucis map and estimating drive times based on crossing the American Midwest. As for inter-continental travel, given that Lucis and Niflheim are both at war and on separate continents, I don't imagine there are any sanctioned routes directly between them. 
> 
> I'm also digging into the technology differences between the two countries, and from what I can gather based on canon + official commentary, cell phones only really exist in Insomnia (though there's clearly some cellular network available across greater Lucis, probably for use by the Kingsglaive). In game, the guys have a quick throwaway mention on the train that Secretary Claustra gave them some kind of top-notch "transceivers" to use in Niflheim. While Noctis is shown using his phone later, he's probably actually using that transceiver, either on its own or hooked up to his phone somehow. 
> 
> Point being, splitting up the gang across continents is going to make things Interesting...


	20. Shield's Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys set out on their journey, and Noctis and Gladio have a talk.

** Noctis (Age 30) **

* * *

They took the long way around to Wiz’s, bouncing over the dirt “highway” that ran through the center of the Three Valleys, rather than risk passing by Hammerhead again. The Kingsglaive had probably long since left for Insomnia, but none of them wanted to risk a second encounter. The detour had the added bonus of taking them past the many deserted farmsteads that dotted the Valleys, and it was in one of those that they found an abandoned car which wasn’t in too terrible a shape. Its red paint was halfway flaked off, but the seals on the doors were solid: the interior smelled musty and the fabric was tattered, but it was otherwise clean.

They stopped there for a late lunch, Young Prompto helping Ignis cook on the camp stove while Prompto scavenged parts from the Kingsglaive van’s repair kit and its engine until he had the car working. Young Ignis and Young Gladio had managed to fill a couple portable gas cans at Hammerhead before the Kingsglaive arrived, enough to get the car to the next gas station at least. They stripped the van of everything useful, including the medical and repair kits and the daemon-repelling headlights, then left it behind when they set out again, chasing the sun west along the Callaegh Steps and through Kettier Highland until they turned north toward the Chocobo Post. 

The kids were all together in the blue sedan, with Young Ignis driving, and Noctis watched fondly through the red car’s rear window as they pointed and gestured in awe at the scenery. His own first trips through the wilds of greater Lucis felt like they’d been only a few months ago, and even now he found himself marveling at the views. Days ago, when he and his friends had set foot in Insomnia for the first time since it fell, he’d bolstered his courage with memories of the countryside and the people in it. _His_ people, who shouldn’t have had to suffer for the gods’ whims. Young Noctis needed this, needed to see the parts of his kingdom beyond the pristine cityscape of Insomnia.

It was well past sunset when they finally pulled off the road, parking the cars by the side of the highway in the shelter of the trees of the Nebulawood. Ignis had recommended they spend the night at Killiam Haven rather than in the caravan at Wiz’s, and despite the allure of even the limited amenities of the caravan, Noctis had agreed. The caravan wasn’t nearly big enough for eight, and anyway the less time they spent around people, the better. Ardyn would come looking for them whenever he got bored of pestering King Regis, and Noctis didn’t entirely trust that Regis himself wouldn’t send someone out to find his son. It was safer to stay at the havens whenever possible. 

The kids piled out of their blue sedan with the energy of youth, bouncing around the side of the road as they stretched and tried to work out the kinks of hours of travel. Prompto, who’d been driving the red car, was also quick to jump out, and he began corralling the kids toward the narrow forest trail up to the haven. Late as it was, there was the very real possibility of running into daemons along the way, but Noctis didn’t expect anything more dangerous than they could handle. This far in the past, the Starscourge’s power was still relatively weak. 

As Prompto and the kids headed into the forest, Gladio leaned forward to clap a hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, Igs,” he said. “I’ll help Noct up the hill.” 

“I don’t need help,” Noctis protested. 

“Sure,” Gladio said easily. “‘Cause you haven’t been limping all day.” 

Probably what Gladio really wanted was a chance to talk to Noct alone - or more accurately, yell at him without the kids around. Ignis must have known it too, because he tilted an ear toward Noctis. Noct sighed. “It’s fine, Ignis. We’ll be up in a sec.” 

Ignis’s mouth tightened in the way that meant he didn’t like what he’d heard, but all he said was, “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He climbed out of the car, his feet sure in the soft moonlight as he stepped over the low barricade at the side of the road and headed up the trail after the others. 

Noctis kept his gaze fixed on the ratty back of the driver’s seat rather than risk looking at Gladio, though he could feel Gladio watching him. When he thought Ignis was out of earshot, he said, “Go ahead. Tell me I’m an irresponsible idiot.” 

Gladio grunted, but instead of yelling like Noctis was braced for, he asked quietly, “Did you kill him?” 

Drautos. Noctis shook his head. 

“Prompto wasn’t sure,” Gladio said.

“I wasn’t, either,” Noctis admitted. “Regis told me, when he called.” 

“Lucky for him I wasn’t there,” Gladio said. His fists clenched, tight enough that the leather of his gloves creaked. “I would’ve.” 

“Gladio—”

“He killed my father,” Gladio said, his gravelly voice even rougher than usual. It was the first time Gladio had ever spoken of Clarus’s death to Noctis, and the reminder ached. 

“I’m sorry,” Noctis said. 

Gladio looked away abruptly, out the window toward the trail up to the haven, though Noctis could still see the pain in his eyes through the reflection in the glass. Gladio said, “Don’t be. He was doing his job.” 

Noct’s conversation with Ignis that morning in the van flickered through his memory, and he burst out, “He shouldn’t have had to! It shouldn’t even _be_ a job, dying for someone else—”

Gladio whirled on him, so sharply that Noctis flinched back against the car door. “Don’t say that,” Gladio hissed. 

“Why not?” Noct demanded. His fists clenched in his lap and he looked down at them, though the tears gathering in his eyes blurred his vision. “It’s not fair for my family to get yours killed. It’s not fair for your family to have to _die_ for a bunch of people who are only special because some stupid dragon god said so two thousand years ago. And it’s not fair for me to spend half our lives asking you to do that, and then turn around and order you to stand down while I—”

Gladio slammed a fist into the back of the passenger seat hard enough that the frayed fabric snapped, and his hand sank through to the wrist. “Shut _up!_ ” he snarled. 

Noctis stopped talking. He wasn’t exactly frightened _of_ Gladio - of all the people in the world, Gladio would be the last one to actually hurt him - but he was afraid _for_ him. Cautiously he reached across the space between them and rested a hand on Gladio’s forearm. Under the heavy leather of his Kingsglaive jacket, the muscles of his arm were taut as steel, and vibrating with barely-contained fury. 

“Don’t say that,” Gladio repeated. His voice cracked. 

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” Noctis said. “Tell me there’s anything fair about this whole stupid prophecy—”

“It’s not about the prophecy!”

“Then what?” Noct demanded. “Why else is any of this happening?” 

There was a long silence, broken only by Gladio’s ragged breathing. Then he sighed. Tension faded slowly from his arm until he finally pulled it free of the seat back, shaking out his hand absently. Blood trickled across his knuckles from deep scratches; he must have punched straight through the seat frame. He didn’t seem to notice, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he said softly. “Now I’m gonna call you an idiot.” 

“Why,” Noctis said. The word came out quiet, and tired. “Because I don’t want to make you give up anything else for me?

Gladio shook his head, still staring down at the floorboards. “You’re right, the prophecy is fucking awful and unfair. If Bahamut was here I’d let _him_ know what I think about this whole damn thing. Because it _shouldn’t_ be anyone’s job to die to save someone else.” 

Noctis winced as he realized what Gladio meant. “That’s different—” 

“Yeah, it is,” Gladio said hoarsely. “For you, it _is_ a job. Something someone’s making you do. You didn’t get a choice, and _that’s_ what’s unfair.” 

Noctis stared at him.

His voice little more than a rough whisper, Gladio said, “I ain’t here because anyone made me be, Noct. Not the gods. Not your dad. Not you. My dad wasn’t, either. He did what he did for your dad because he believed in him. I’m here because I believe in you.” He stopped, swallowed, his throat bobbing with emotion. 

“Gladio—” 

“Besides,” Gladio cut him off. He looked up, eyes shining with what Noctis was willing to let him pretend was mischief. “If I wasn’t here, who’d keep your dumb ass in line?”

A choking little laugh forced its way out of Noct’s throat. “Ignis tries.” 

“Ignis is too soft on you,” Gladio retorted. He ruffled Noct’s hair like they were kids again. “Speaking of Igs, we’d better head up to the haven before he accuses me of letting you get carried off by a goblin.” 

“Oh come on.” Noctis pushed Gladio’s hand away, making an exaggerated annoyed face. “Give me _some_ credit. Make it a hobgoblin at least.” 

The corners of Gladio’s eyes crinkled in the closest thing he did to a laugh anymore. “You sure? You’re wounded, remember?” Then he seemed to notice the blood on his own knuckles. “Fuck.”

Noctis laughed for real then. “Guess we’re both in trouble if a goblin shows up. Hang on, I’ll get the med kit.” 

Gladio mock-grumbled under his breath, but didn’t object as Noctis dug sterile wipes, antiseptic ointment, and bandages out of the Kingsglaive medical supply kit in the trunk, and set about cleaning and wrapping the cuts. They weren’t as bad as they’d looked, but who knew how long the car had been sitting abandoned in the Valleys. Noctis didn’t want Gladio to lose a hand to infection because he’d made him angry enough to punch through the seat. 

He was working on a long gash along the bone of Gladio’s knuckle when Gladio said suddenly, “All right, spit it out.” 

Noctis looked up long enough to roll his eyes at Gladio. He’d been debating whether to bring this up, but apparently Gladio wasn’t letting him have the choice. “It’s about kid-you,” Noct said.

“Don’t worry,” Gladio said. “I’m already planning to kick his ass for what he said.” 

Too focused on what had happened in Hammerhead, Noctis had almost forgotten Young Gladio’s outburst that morning. Gladio had every right to knock some sense into his younger self, but that wasn’t what Noctis was worried about. “Good, but… it’s not that.” Noctis took a deep breath, then forced himself to say, “He’s afraid of me. After what… what I did, I don’t blame him.” 

“Afraid? I thought Prompto said he did a damn good job.” 

“Yeah, but…” The bloody gashes on Gladio’s hand blurred into the memory of the bloody ruin of Drautos’s body, and Noctis had to turn away sharply, leaning his head against the cool glass of the side window. “He’s the one who stopped me. Brought me down out of the Armiger. He—”

“Really?” Gladio interrupted. “He did an Armiger Disruptor?” 

Noctis tilted his head to stare at Gladio from under the mess of his hair. “A what?” 

“Armiger Disruptor,” Gladio said. “One of the first techniques a Shield learns.” When Noctis continued to stare at him, Gladio sighed. “Guess no one ever mentioned it to you, huh?” 

“No,” Noctis said flatly. 

“Hey, easy,” Gladio said. “It ain’t a big secret. If things hadn’t happened like they did, you and I would’ve practiced it after you got your first Royal Arm. As is, I only ever got to try it a couple times with your dad, back when I first declared I was gonna be your Shield. You were still a kid, you didn’t even use the armory yet.” His gaze turned distant as he called up memories from half a lifetime ago. “And by the time you did get your first Arm, the last thing I wanted to do was stop you.”

Noctis thought back to the moment when Young Gladio had hauled him off Drautos. “So what is it? I didn’t think kid-you did anything special.”

“From your side, it probably doesn’t look like much,” Gladio admitted. His voice took on the lecturing tone he’d used years ago when first teaching Noctis how to fight. “There’s stories in my family about Lucis Caelums who lost control over the Armiger. Let the power go to their heads. Kind of like a Galahdian barbarian or the old legends of Niff berserkers.” 

Noctis nodded; he was familiar with the archetypes. After his own uses of the Armiger, he couldn’t deny they were apt. 

“It’s one thing when it’s a regular guy with a battle-axe and a blood rage,” Gladio continued. “When it’s a Lucis Caelum with the full power of the Crystal and the Armiger behind him…” He shrugged. “The Shields figured we’d better have a way to shut it down if we need to.”

“The Armiger Disruptor,” Noctis said. 

“Yep.” Gladio started to thump him in the arm with his injured hand, then thought better of it and elbowed him instead. “So untwist your panties, princess. Like I said, it probably doesn’t look like much from your side. For us, it’s a specific technique because we have to get through your damn wall of Arms before we can do anything to cool you down.” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is, I’m impressed the kid pulled it off. But you ain’t upset because he shut you down.” 

Noctis shook his head. “He saw what I did to Drautos. I’m worried I…” He gestured vaguely at himself and Gladio, not sure how to articulate it. “What if he and kid-me can’t…” Noct banged his forehead lightly against the glass of the window, annoyed with himself. “If he’s afraid of me - of _kid-_ me - then how’s he going to be his Shield?” 

“He’ll get over it,” Gladio said.

“I doubt it’ll be that easy,” Noctis muttered to the window. “He can’t even look at me now.” 

Gladio’s good hand gripped his chin, turning him gently away from the window. Gladio met his gaze and held it, his amber eyes intense; it was Noctis who looked away first. Gladio said, “See? He’ll get over it.”

Noctis frowned. “You weren’t ever scared of me like that.” 

“Yeah?” Gladio said. “Try asking Prompto how I was doing right after you defeated the fucking _Hydraen._ ” He shook his head. “Noct… Look. Not gonna say I wasn’t freaked out the first time I saw you powered up. We all were. You’re damn scary like that.” He held up a hand to stop Noctis from interrupting. “Remember, I got eased into it. Saw you collecting the Arms. Helped you fight Titan. Used part of the Armiger myself, a few times. That kid—” with a jerk of his head toward the haven— “ain’t seen any of that yet. He knows the kitten. He wasn’t ready for the full-grown coeurl.” 

“Kitten, huh?” Noctis said.

“Y’know, I think a kitten might’ve been stronger than you when you were that age,” Gladio teased. He stuck out his injured hand again. “You gonna finish this or not?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis grumbled, but he picked up the antiseptic tube and went back to work. As annoying as it was, Gladio was probably right. Noctis still remembered the awe in Prompto’s voice the first time Ramuh had come to their aid. Noctis had grown up seeing his father use the Armiger, had known of the power of the Crystal. It was easy to forget the guys hadn’t. Maybe Young Gladio did just need some time.

When Noct was done wrapping the injuries, Gladio turned his hand back and forth, studying the bandages. “Not bad,” he allowed. 

“You’re welcome,” Noctis said dryly. “But now we really do need to get up to the haven, before Ignis sends out a search party.” 

“He worries too much,” Gladio said, waving a dismissive hand, though he followed Noct out of the car and toward the trail anyway. 

Despite Noctis’s earlier protests, he was grateful for Gladio’s help on the steep hill; the gash on his hip ached and the old injury across his back had stiffened from so many hours sitting in the car. Being thirty really sucked. By the end of the ten-minute walk, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into one of the camp chairs and just… not move for a while. Still, as the raucous sounds of the kids trying to set up the tents came into earshot, Noctis paused, pulling Gladio to a halt with him. 

“So…” Noct said, then floundered. He’d spent the whole walk trying to figure out how to say this, but now the words were sticking in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Gladio, I…” 

Gladio gave a soft, amused snort and clapped Noctis on the shoulder. “I know.”

“You could at least let me say it,” Noctis complained. 

“And have us both look like we were chopping up a cafeteria’s worth of onions when we get up to the haven?” Gladio shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You said your piece at the camp a few nights ago. I said mine back there. What else do you wanna say?” 

“I guess you’re right,” Noctis murmured. He looked up, meeting his Shield’s eyes, and added quietly, “Thank you, Gladio.” 

Gladio pressed his fist to his heart and bowed, deep and solemn. Then he straightened, stepping close to rest a hand on Noct’s back to steady him on the uneven terrain, and together they walked toward the haven’s warm light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Gladio are always an interesting pair to write. Neither of them is great at expressing their emotions generally, and they're a hundred times worse at it when they're talking to each other. But it's still so obvious how much they care about and trust each other.


	21. Immutable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis discusses fate and destiny with his younger self.

**Ignis (Age 32)**

* * *

“Excuse me...” A pause, then, “I’m afraid I don’t know your proper title.” 

Ignis tilted his head toward his younger self, one of the gestures he’d had to learn after losing his eyesight. Social norms typically required one to meet a person’s gaze when they spoke, but in Ignis’s world of darkness, doing so was difficult and tended to evoke discomfort in the speaker. The head tilt worked well enough as a replacement, though it also served to remind others of his blindness in ways he didn’t always like. Such as now, when he was acutely aware of how uneasy his younger self already was. Not that his response would help the matter. 

“‘Ignis’ is fine,” he said. “I’ve no proper title to speak of.” 

A longer pause; over the crackling of the campfire and the teen boys’ voices joking within the tent on the other side of the haven, Ignis heard his younger self shift uncomfortably. Possibly debating whether to question it, whether to point out that he ought to be _Lord,_ realizing that would mean his father and uncle were dead. Finally his younger self gave up and said only, “May I speak with you for a moment?” 

“Of course,” Ignis answered, and set the pan he’d been washing aside. The dinner dishes could wait; Ignis’s younger self had been avoiding him since they’d first met, and Ignis didn’t want to pass up this chance to talk. “We can get a bit of privacy over here.” 

They’d been at Killiam Haven for several hours already, preparing for tomorrow. Prompto had instructed his younger self on gun care, while Ignis had cooked dinner from the leftover dualhorn meat and the fresh vegetables the others had acquired in Hammerhead. His own younger self had worked with the two Gladios to cobble together clothing which wasn’t marked with Crown insignia, and the two Noctises had filled out a map with the location of the Royal Tombs. 

It was nearly midnight now, though, and the camp was settling for the night. Young Gladio was standing watch, while the others had retired to the tents to sleep. Ignis’s own younger counterpart should have been resting as well in preparation for his turn on watch, but he evidently had no more desire to attempt sleep than Ignis did. 

Whatever had passed between Noctis and Gladio when they’d stayed behind in the car had changed something between them, and Ignis had to constantly remind himself that it was a good thing. The King of Lucis and his Shield needed to work as a team, to trust utterly in one another, and Ignis had no right to the jealousy that stabbed under his ribs at their renewed comfort around one another. Yet he couldn’t deny the jealousy was there. For most of the last decade, ever since the incident in Meldacio, Gladio and Prompto had had each other. 

Ignis had had no one, until Noctis returned. 

But Noctis wasn’t Ignis’s alone, as his and Gladio’s newfound ease demonstrated. Ignis couldn’t keep his king entirely to himself - not for the handful of days he’d thought would be all they’d get before Noctis had to die, and not now that they’d been granted that most precious gift of more time. It did not befit the chamberlain of the king to be jealous of his Shield, so Ignis had turned his energy toward scrubbing dishes in the hope of burning off those restless, aching thoughts. 

He hadn’t expected his younger counterpart to want to talk, though. Perhaps it was a good sign - maybe Ignis would be able to help his younger self avoid the mistakes he’d made. 

He led his younger self off the upper edge of the haven into the little copse of trees that stood to the north. Far in the distance, Ignis could hear the screeching of imps, the heavier metallic pacing of an iron giant, but nothing close enough to be a bother. And far fewer daemons than he was accustomed to, after ten years without sunlight. His younger self, though, was clearly uneasy; his collar rustled in a steady side-to-side motion as he swiveled his head, trying to watch for threats. Ignis said, “We’re in no danger. If necessary, we can be back at the haven in seconds.”

“You aren’t going to tell me you can handle anything that turns up?” his younger self asked curiously.

“Would you believe me?” 

A hesitation, which was answer enough. Lifting a hand to his face, Ignis pulled off his glasses, baring the scars on his eyes. He heard the slight intake of breath, the rustle of an aborted movement of his younger self’s arm. 

Ignis knew the scars were unsightly; aside from what his own fingers told him of their roughness and size, he’d once bullied Prompto into describing the extent of the damage with an artist’s eye for detail and accuracy. Ignis rarely thought in images anymore, but one of the few which had remained with him for the last ten years was his imagination’s portrait of the scars, red and gnarled and hideous. He waited until he heard the rustle of fabric, the soft hiss between teeth as his younger self turned sharply away. 

Ignis said, “You fear this.” 

“Shouldn’t I?” his younger self asked. “If I am who you once were, then you know better than any how…” A hitch in his voice, before he steadied. “How terrifying I find such a loss.” 

Ignis nodded. “I am truly sorry you had to learn of my fate in such a way.” 

A long pause. When his younger self finally spoke, the angle of his voice indicated that he was still facing away. “Is it… inevitable?” he whispered. “Is there no way I can avoid it?” 

“I wish I could tell you for certain, but… I don’t know,” Ignis admitted. 

“Why not?” his younger self said. “Surely if you told me how it came to happen, then we could figure out a way to avoid it!” 

“It’s not so simple,” Ignis said sharply.

“But why not?!” his younger self demanded, his voice swinging back to face Ignis once more. “We left Insomnia to change things. Are you telling me this is more immutable than the Cosmogony itself?” 

“Maybe,” Ignis snapped. “It could be.” Then he caught himself, and sighed, taking a deep breath. “Apologies. This is… I have not spoken about what happened to anyone. Not even my own companions.” Made himself admit, “Not even Noct. It’s… a painful topic.” 

His younger self didn’t answer, just waited. A trick Ignis recognized; it was one he himself often used on others. Gathering his thoughts, Ignis said carefully, “The more complete, yet still unhelpful, answer is that my own actions and choices led directly to the loss of my sight—”

“So I _could_ change it,” his younger self interjected hopefully. 

“Let me finish,” Ignis said mildly, though his younger self still made a slight movement backward, as though chagrined. “It was my own actions and choices, yes,” Ignis continued, “but the circumstances which led to me making those choices were deliberately arranged to force me into such a position.”

“By Chancellor Izunia?” his younger self guessed, his voice bitter. 

“Partially,” Ignis said. “But… his actions in turn may well have been ordained by the Astrals themselves as part of the Cosmogony.”

“What? Why?” A sharp snap of fabric as his younger self made a gesture of frustration. “Why would the Astrals care about me going _blind?!_ ” 

“Why, I do not know,” Ignis said. 

“Then why do you think they were involved?”

“Do you recall the Genesis painting in the antechamber of the throne room in the Citadel?” Ignis asked. 

Hair rustled against a starched collar as his younger self nodded, then he added hastily, “Yes.” 

“You don’t have to answer aloud,” Ignis said. “I can hear you nod.”

“... _That_ , I find difficult to believe,” his younger self said. 

“As I said this morning,” Ignis retorted, “when one loses the use of one sense, one learns to pay more attention to those which remain. Out here, where it’s quiet, you’re easy to read.” 

Not that it was actually quiet out here, not to Ignis. To his younger self, accustomed to the constant background roar of Insomnia, it would be as quiet as a tomb. But Ignis was acutely aware of the soft chirping of night insects, of the rustle of the breeze through the treetops, of the distant shrieking of daemons. Up here on the side of a hill at night, sound carried in a way he never would have imagined when he was twenty. 

“Hmph.” His younger self folded his arms, clearly not liking his answer. “Why did you ask about the Genesis painting?” 

“I’m sure you recall we were taught it is a representation of the ultimate end of the Cosmogony: the Chosen King and the Oracle combining the magic of the gods with the power of the Crystal to vanquish the daemons.” 

His younger self nodded again, and Ignis continued, “Three days ago, when my companions and I passed through that antechamber on the way to face Ardyn, Prompto noticed that the painting is a remarkably accurate depiction of the four of us. Right down,” he added softly, “to one of the Chosen’s four companions being blind.” 

A sharp intake of breath as his younger self processed that, then, “But that makes no sense! Why would the gods _care?_ ” 

Ignis shrugged. “I don’t know. And perhaps they don’t. The painting might depict one companion as blind because I am, or I could be blind because the Cosmogony decreed that one of the Chosen’s companions must be. Or perhaps it was not intended by its artist to mean anything, but Ardyn chose to make it literal. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.”

“What matters is that you were set up,” his younger self said quietly. 

“Indeed.” Ignis thought back to that day in Altissia, ten years ago. His memories were vague at best; he’d still had his sight then, and struggled now to process such images. But he remembered enough: the fear for Noctis slicing through his gut. The ground rattling beneath his feet as Titan called the very bones of the earth to battle the Imperial army. The patter of rain against his skin, the cold wetness of stone beneath his cheek, the agony of an Imperial soldier’s armored knee digging into his spine. 

“One of the tasks your Noctis must accomplish, after we rescue the Oracle, will be to form covenants with the five surviving Astrals,” he said.

His younger self nodded, a soft rustle of skin against a starched collar. “You said you encountered the Hydraen in Altissia, and that you were blinded during the battle.” 

“So I did.” Ignis paused, turning his ear toward the camp for a moment, but heard no indication that any of the others were paying him any heed. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice as he recounted the full story to his younger self: becoming separated from Gladio and Prompto, teaming up with Ravus Nox Fleuret, finding Noctis and Lunafreya on the Tidemother’s altar. 

Ardyn’s arrival, and how he’d threatened Noctis. Ignis’s choice, the only one he’d believed available to him with the painfully limited knowledge he’d had at the time, to use the Ring to save Noct’s life. 

“The price of the Ring’s power was my sight,” he said. He was aware, distantly, that his voice had gone empty and toneless. It had to be, or else he’d lose his grip on the grief and rage he’d held in a secret place deep in his chest for the last ten years. “I do not know if I actually did anything to save Noct, or if I merely walked into Ardyn’s trap. But I would make the same choice again, even now, because I cannot risk Noct’s life.” 

“The only way it would be safe to choose differently,” his younger self mused, “would be to avoid having to make the choice at all.”

Ignis nodded. “But that would mean leaving Noctis alone on the Tidemother’s altar, with Ravus out for his blood.”

“Shouldn’t the gods do something?” his younger self asked. “If Noct is their Chosen, why would they allow him to be so vulnerable?”

“The Hydraen did her damndest to _kill_ him,” Ignis said dryly. “If Noctis were to fall to Ravus’s blade, or Ardyn’s, the gods would see it only as a sign that he is not worthy of their power.”

“And then what?” his younger self demanded, his voice bitter again. “Leave humanity to _die_? If Noctis dies before producing an heir, then even if the gods did want to choose another, there would be no more Lucis Caelums for them to choose.” 

Ignis hesitated, debating with himself. He didn’t want to speak of this, but perhaps having his younger self’s mind turned to the same problem would help him find the answer that had eluded him for a decade. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve told no other soul. Swear to me you will likewise tell no one. Not Gladio, not Noct.” 

“What—”

“Swear,” Ignis said. 

“Will it bring harm to Noct?” 

“Not directly, no,” Ignis said. 

A pause, a restless shifting of weight; his younger self clearly didn’t like that. But finally he said, “I so swear.” 

Ignis turned his head toward his younger self, leaning in closer and speaking in a bare whisper. “I fear, if Noctis were to fall, that the gods would simply allow humanity to fall with him. As best I was able to determine from my research, they chose Noct not because of any innate qualities he alone possesses out of all his predecessors, but simply because he was the first Lucis Caelum born after Ardyn was freed from his prison. If Noct cannot save humanity, then humanity will not be saved.” 

A pause, then a gasp as his younger self caught what Ignis wasn’t saying. “That’s why,” he whispered. “That’s why you were going to let him—” He broke off, his breath coming in short gasps as the full, awful implications caught up to him. The angle of the sound changed, tilting down to the ground for a few heartbeats, his younger self looking frantically around his feet for an answer to magically appear, before lifting back up to look at Ignis once more. “But then… then there’s nothing _we_ can—”

“Perhaps,” Ignis said. The old grief in his chest burned fresh, lit by the agony in his younger self’s voice, and he forced his own voice to remain steady. “Perhaps not.” 

“You think there’s a way.”

“I think,” Ignis corrected carefully, “that _if_ such a way exists, we stand a better chance of discovering it at this point in the timeline, with more players remaining on the board and full knowledge of the end game.”

“The Oracle.” 

Ignis nodded. “There’s a reason Ardyn went out of his way to kill her when he did.”

“Does she know?” his younger counterpart asked. “About Noct’s true destiny?”

“I don’t know,” Ignis admitted. “If she did, she never so much as hinted anything about it to Noct.” 

Silence for a minute or two, though Ignis heard the slight, restless movements of his younger counterpart shifting as he thought. Finally his younger self said, “We’ll have to plan for both possibilities. If she does know, and chose to shepherd your Noctis toward his destiny despite it...” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ignis said firmly. He could practically hear his younger self’s mind racing, analyzing this new information, slotting it together this way and that, seeing what strategies he could build. It was the same thing Ignis himself had been doing, ever since they’d chosen to remain in the past and try to change fate. 

“It’s still not a guarantee, I suppose,” his younger self admitted. “And the stakes are higher than I could possibly have imagined.” 

“You may still find yourself making the same choices I did,” Ignis said softly. 

“I won’t!” his younger self said, his voice fierce, his feet hissing through the vegetation on the ground as though he’d slipped into a fighting stance. “I _won’t_ let Noct die!” The fabric of his sleeve snapped as he made a sharp movement of one arm. “Even if it means letting humanity die. I don’t care - it’s _Noct_ I want to protect!” 

Ignis had to turn away at that, the grief in his chest burning like a funeral pyre. “I once thought the same,” he whispered. “But I’ve spent the last ten years watching humanity die. I’ve witnessed firsthand what that means - the suffering it brings. If…” He almost couldn’t bring himself to say the words, not to his younger self, who was still bright with idealism and devotion. But this young version of him had to know - had to _understand_ , before he was faced with that choice himself, whether on the Tidemother’s altar or elsewhere. 

He swallowed once, twice, his throat like ash. “If Noctis is willing to make that choice - if he’s willing to give himself for his people, the way a king ought… I will remain by his side, but…” He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and willed them back. “But I won’t stop him.” 

A soft breath, a slight motion. Ignis didn’t wait for his younger self to speak. “No matter what we do here, no matter how desperately you wish otherwise, you may still have to make the choices I did. You now know everything I do. I can only hope that, when the time comes, you are able to do what Noctis needs you to do.” 

There was nothing more to say to that, and his younger self didn’t try. They returned to the haven in silence, and split up to retire to their separate tents. Ignis felt his way past Gladio to where Noctis lay, and curled around his king, taking comfort in Noct’s heartbeat against his palm. From the other tent, he heard rustling and a sleepy murmur from Young Noctis, and knew his younger self was doing the same. 

It was a long, long time before Ignis heard his younger self’s breathing even out into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not confirmed anywhere in (primary-timeline) canon that I could find whether or not Lunafreya knows about Noct's true destiny. Interestingly, the Dawn of the Future novel says she didn't know he had to die - she's surprised and horrified when she finds out.


	22. Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Gladio and Adult Gladio have a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter this week, but at least it's a chapter?

**Gladiolus (Age 20 ~~and 11 months~~ )**

* * *

A sharp kick to the bottom of his booted foot jolted Gladiolus out of the light doze he’d finally managed to fall into. He snapped awake and rolled to his knees between Noctis’s sleeping form and the intruder before fully registering that it was his own future self who’d kicked him. Future Gladio leaned in the open tent flap, watching Gladiolus with an impassive expression. He’d swapped his Kingsglaive uniform for battered black pants and an unzipped brown leather jacket, revealing a thick band of scar tissue cutting diagonally across the entirety of his torso. When he saw Gladiolus was awake, he gave a sharp jerk of his chin: _come with me._

Gladiolus almost refused. He didn’t like his future self, didn’t want to spend any more time with him than absolutely necessary. He especially didn’t like Future Gladio acting like he had any right to order Gladiolus around, when he was the one who’d abandoned his own duties as Shield. But one of them had to act like an Amicitia, and if Future Gladio wasn’t going to do it, then Gladiolus would. With a quick glance at Noctis - sound asleep between Ignis and Prompto, as safe as he was going to be for the moment - Gladiolus stood and shouldered past his future self out of the tent. 

It was still dark outside, and a thick fog had rolled in sometime during the night, muffling the sounds of the forest. Their campfire had been banked down to little more than embers, shedding barely enough light to make out Future Prompto sitting at the folding table. They were doing single watches tonight, in the hope of giving them all a chance for more sleep; that it was Future Prompto’s watch meant it was nearly dawn. His blue eyes flicked methodically across the wall of fog hovering at the edges of the haven, and his hands were busy cleaning one of his guns. He glanced at them, and Gladiolus saw the look that passed between the two adults, though he couldn’t decipher it. Future Prompto made him uneasy; he was so different from the excitable teenager Gladiolus knew that it was hard to believe he was the same person. 

Before Gladiolus could say anything, though, his future self jerked his chin at him again and strode off the eastern edge of the haven onto the hillside. Gladiolus scowled, folded his arms, and stayed put. There was being polite enough to not sulk in the tent because his future self was an asshole when waking him up, and then there was being _completely irresponsible_ by walking away from the prince he was bound to protect. Not that his future self would understand that. 

Future Gladio stopped a few feet past the edge of the haven, just before the fog and the darkness would have swallowed him, and turned to raise an eyebrow at Gladiolus. 

Gladiolus didn’t move except to lift his chin pointedly. 

From the campfire came the soft click of a gun’s cylinder snapping into place. Out of the corner of his eye, Gladiolus saw Future Prompto check the revolver’s sight, his motions precise, the big gun steady in his hands. Ten seconds ago the gun had been in pieces on the table; Gladiolus hadn’t even heard him assemble it. The whole thing was a very obviously calculated move to let Gladiolus see his confidence with the weapon, and its message was clear: _I’m on guard. You can go._

Twenty-four hours ago, Gladiolus would have ignored it. Would have refused to abandon his prince in the hands of strangers, never mind that these strangers were who they’d be in twelve years. Astrals help him, Gladiolus would never become the man who called himself a Shield but intended to let his king die. But twenty-four hours ago, Gladiolus hadn’t seen what Future Noctis was capable of - the terrifying, overwhelming power that lurked in that lazy body. Hadn’t seen Future Prompto face down _General_ fucking _Glauca_ with nothing but a revolver and more guts than the entirety of the Kingsglaive. 

No, Gladiolus still didn’t like the idea of leaving his Noctis here, but he couldn’t honestly say the kid would be unprotected. If not by the others, then by Noct’s own future self, whose magic had sparked like lightning through Gladiolus’s bones as he’d executed the Armiger Disrupter. 

Sighing, Gladiolus uncrossed his arms and followed his future self away from the haven. His senses strained as he stepped off the blessed rock, his awareness of Noctis like a thread unspooling behind him. Fog closed around him, muffling the sounds of his movement and rendering all but the closest trees no more than ghosts. Up ahead, Future Gladio slipped like a wraith through the undergrowth, seeming far more at home here in the wilderness than he had back at the Citadel. Gladiolus did his best to mimic the ease of his future self’s motions, but he was painfully aware of every rustling leaf and snapped twig. 

Annoyingly, his future self was better at more than just ghosting through the forest. The first time daemons jumped them, Future Gladio summoned his sword and cleaved through all three of them without so much as breaking stride. Gladiolus had barely registered they were under attack; his sword was still as far from his hand as if he’d left it in Insomnia. By the third daemon attack, he at least managed to summon his sword, but his future self still dispatched the threat before he could join the fight. 

Gladiolus glared at his future self’s back. If the asshole had just brought him out here to show off his own prowess at daemon-slaying, Gladiolus would throw him off the fucking hill. Finally, though, they reached some kind of footpath through the forest. It was breathtakingly steep, edged here and there with a simple wooden fence meant more to outline the curves of the path than to keep anyone from going past it. Future Gladio led him up the path through a tumble of massive boulders, higher and higher until Gladiolus suspected that if not for the fog and the low clouds, he’d be able to see the Astral Shard in its crater two hundred miles to the west. 

Finally, the incline lessened. The rocks here were no longer naturally-formed boulders, but square-edged cuts of stone, some larger than subway cars. They were scattered across the hillside like the play-blocks of a child: ruins of some kind, perhaps from as long ago as the legendary Solheim. Future Gladio broke away from the path then, curving south around a copse of trees until they came upon one especially large slab, nearly the size of a Citadel training room. It was wedged into the hill in a way that left its broad surface more or less level, and Future Gladio hopped up on the end of it, then turned and watched Gladiolus expectantly. 

Gladiolus scowled. He knew that look; he’d gotten it from his father plenty often as a kid. It was the look that meant he was about to get his ass kicked for disobeying orders. But as far as Gladiolus was concerned, it was his future self who was blatantly flouting a Shield’s duty, and Gladiolus was more than happy to be the one to deliver the ass-kicking. He followed his future self up onto the rock, deliberately close enough that his future self had to step back or have no room to move. 

Future Gladio conceded the ground with the faintest of smirks - then held up a hand and called his sword to rest on his shoulder. Gladiolus summoned his own greatsword, sliding his feet into a ready position. The surface of the massive stone slab was slick from the fog, pitted and uneven from untold centuries of weather; fighting up here would be nothing like sparring in the Citadel’s training grounds. No, it was going to be dangerous as hell, and Gladiolus’s blood sang the louder for it. 

His future self didn’t give him any more time to prepare. With a roar that shattered the fog-shrouded silence, Future Gladio charged. His sword swung in a wide arc toward Gladiolus’s side, a move meant to force him to step back and fall off the rock immediately. Instead, Gladiolus lunged forward, catching the blow on the flat of his own blade, and shouldered his future self in the gut— 

Or tried to. Future Gladio was already spinning to the side, and Gladiolus barely brushed his chest - then had to throw himself frantically forward as Future Gladio’s sword swept around the rest of its arc, coming at him from the other side now. Before he could catch his balance, his future self lunged forward with the same shoulder-check move, except with Gladiolus already unsteady, it worked. An instant later Gladiolus was down, his knees and hands stinging from the hard fall to the rock, his sword vanished in a flash of blue sparks. Future Gladio’s sword tapped the side of Gladiolus’s throat, a feather-light touch but enough to make his victory clear. 

Snarling, Gladiolus rolled to his feet. His future self let him, watching in silence, his sword resting on his shoulder. Waiting. 

Fury howled through Gladiolus’s blood, and this time he was the one who charged. He didn’t call his blade right away, hoping to force his future self to guess where the attack was going to come from. But instead, Future Gladio dismissed his own blade and met the charge head-on, one massive fist driving for Gladiolus’s gut. 

Gladiolus managed to twist, taking no more than a glancing blow off the meat of his side. Changing tactics, he called his heavy shield onto his arm, intending to wedge it under his future self’s shoulder and flip him. Future Gladio slipped back and away, summoning his sword again and issuing a series of fast but mighty strikes that forced Gladiolus to duck behind the shield. 

He realized the trick a second too late; saw Future Gladio’s foot sweep low but couldn’t move in time. He let his leg collapse rather than risk a broken knee, and fell to the ground, Future Gladio’s sword already at his neck on the opposite side as his shield. Rage burned his skin, hot enough that the fog should have sizzled where it touched him. Gladiolus shoved to his feet and turned to face his future self once more, calling his sword back to hand. 

Again they clashed, and again Future Gladio had him on the ground in a handful of seconds. A fourth time, and a fifth, over and over and over again, their breath steaming in the morning chill. To the east, behind the bulk of the hill, the fog lightened with first muted glow of dawn, and still they fought. Gladiolus’s muscles burned with exertion, his hands and knees and spine bruised from being thrown repeatedly to the ground, yet he refused to yield. The man he faced was an imposter, a failed Shield who would let his king die. Every fiber of Gladiolus’s being screamed with hatred for him, for everything he represented. 

Failure. 

Loss. 

Noctis, dead on a throne that had been nothing but a false promise by uncaring gods. 

Future Gladio didn’t waver either - didn’t even look tired, the asshole, as he removed his sword from Gladiolus’s throat yet again and stepped back, giving Gladiolus room to regain his feet. “If you’re trying to make a point,” Gladiolus snarled, “don’t bother. I’m not interested in hearing anything you have to say.” 

“Yeah?” Future Gladio swung his sword in a lazy, arrogant circle. “What point am I trying to make?” 

“You’re so much stronger than me,” Gladiolus spat. “I’m weak, right? I’m not gonna be able to save Noct so I might as well give up, just like you did!” He laughed, bitter and furious, and called his own sword to hand once more. “I don’t care. If I have to work twice as hard as you, I’ll do it. I ain’t just gonna give up!” 

“You really don’t get it,” Future Gladio said. He sounded almost sad, though his expression was impassive as he readied for Gladiolus’s attack. “You don’t have the first fucking clue.” 

Gladiolus came at him with a high feint, dropping low at the last second to sweep his future self’s legs from beneath him. Future Gladio fell, and for an instant Gladiolus felt a thrill of success. “Yeah?” he demanded. “Just ‘cause I’m not going to give up?”

But Future Gladio landed in a controlled roll and was back on his feet before Gladiolus could lock him down. His amber eyes blazed with the first real, non-battle emotion he’d shown yet. “I didn’t give up!”

“No?” Gladiolus snarled. An answering fire flared in his chest and he channeled it into his next strike, a two-handed swing that forced his future self back a few quick steps. Pushing his advantage with both blade and word, Gladiolus demanded, “Then why the fuck are you letting him die?!” 

The blow came out of nowhere, slamming into his chest hard enough to steal his breath and flatten him to the ground. “ _BECAUSE_ ,” Future Gladio roared, “ _HE ORDERED ME TO._ ” 

The massive sword slammed into the rock beside Gladiolus’s ear; chips of stone slashed at his face. His future self stood over him, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, but his eyes were closed. Gladiolus rolled away, climbing to his feet, every muscle in his body aching as he raised his sword for the next round. 

But his future self didn’t turn. Didn’t lift his sword. Didn’t attack again. He just stood there, bowed over his sword, and slowly sank to his knees. Blood seeped through the bandages around his left hand, a single drop falling to the ground like an omen. Future Gladio’s voice cracked as he whispered, “He ordered me to.” 

“If there was ever a time to disobey orders,” Gladiolus hissed, “that would be it.” 

Future Gladio tilted his head just enough to see Gladiolus, an amber gleam behind black hair in the thin, watery morning light. “You still don’t get it.” 

“What don’t I get?” Gladiolus demanded. “We’re allowed to disobey direct orders if it’s to save our king—”

“Hah,” Future Gladio muttered, a bitter parody of a laugh. He shook his head, his hair rustling against the metal of his sword where his head was bowed against the blade. “I want to. _Fuck_ , do I want to. But I ain’t gonna do that to him.” 

Gladiolus rocked back on his heels. “What?” 

“D’you know _why_ Noctis ordered me to stand down?” Future Gladio asked without lifting his head. He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued, “He told me he knew it was cowardly of him. But he asked me, just this once, to let him off easy.” 

A cold wind shivered through Gladiolus’s bones, smothering the fire of his rage and freezing him in place; he couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, a memory from long ago, when Gladiolus had asked if he was afraid of dying. 

_No_ , Clarus Amicitia had said, his blue eyes sad. _If it comes to that, I’ll be the one who gets off easy._

“We all know what would happen if I tried to take on Bahamut,” Future Gladio whispered. “And I’d still do it in a heartbeat, if Noct wanted me to. That’s why… why he asked me to stand down.” His voice broke. “Because _he_ can’t watch _me_ die.” He bowed over his sword as though it was a grave. His broad shoulders shook, and wet spots blossomed on the stone beneath him. 

The muffled gasps of Future Gladio’s sobs sounded far away, somewhere past the roaring in Gladiolus’s ears. Dimly he was aware that he, too, had fallen to his knees.

_What does that mean?_ he’d asked his father, all those years ago.

_Dying for someone you love is easy_ , Clarus had said. _But living after someone has died for you… Astrals help me, I don’t know if I could bear it._

Future Noctis had asked Future Gladio to bear it.

_Noct_ might someday have to ask _Gladiolus_ to bear it. 

“No,” Gladiolus whispered. “No, I…” 

Future Gladio drew in a ragged, broken breath. “Now you get it,” he said, his voice hollow. He pushed himself roughly to his feet, tearing his sword free of the stone and hefting it over his shoulder. Without another word, he turned his back on Gladiolus and jumped down off the rock, trudging away into the fog. 

_No_. 

Gladiolus squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. 

_No, I won’t let that happen._

Reached for the fire of his rage, fanning its heat through his frozen bones. 

_I won’t!_

Shoving to his feet, Gladiolus growled, feeling the sound rumble through his chest down to the stone under his boots. Future Gladio didn’t think he could fight a god and win? Too bad. 

Gladiolus _would_.


	23. Chocobo Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys visit Wiz Chocobo Post, and Young Prompto learns something about his future self.

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

Morning dawned grey and chilly, the rain-heavy clouds so low in the sky that they blended right into the fog that covered the hillside. The whole world felt muted, an eerie contrast to the sunny expanse of the desert behind Hammerhead. Prompto huddled close to the heating vent in their stolen blue sedan, wishing he hadn’t returned Future Noctis’s heavy woolen mantel yesterday. Or that he could ride in the back seat without getting carsick, so he could sit between Noct and Gladio and share their body heat. The sleeveless shirt his future self had given him was much better suited to the desert heat of Leide than to Duscae’s rainy spring. 

Not that any of them were really dressed appropriately for either the weather or the location. It had taken some extensive work last night to clean, repair, and modify the clothes they had available, but they’d managed to cobble together outfits for all of them that weren’t obviously uniforms and didn’t visibly bear the Lucis Caelum crest. Prompto thought they still looked like a cliched band of ragtag adventurers from some of the comic books he liked to read, but at least no one would immediately recognize the Crown Prince or his retainers.

“We’re nearly there,” Ignis said from the driver’s seat. Prompto looked up in time to see a big, run-down sign emerge from the fog shrouding the highway. _Wiz Chocobo Post_ , it exclaimed in peeling letters that might have looked brighter in sunlight, along with an arrow pointing toward a turn-off. Up ahead, their future selves’ scavenged red car made the turn, and Ignis followed smoothly. Despite the cold and the gloom, a thrill of excitement ran across Prompto’s skin at the sight of the sign. They were going to see real live chocobos! 

“Prompto?” Noctis asked. “You okay?”

Prompto realized abruptly that he’d started bouncing in his seat, and made himself hold still. Or at least try to. “I’ve never seen chocobos up close before,” he said, twisting in his seat to face Noctis. “But you have, right? I mean, you rode one in the parade for the half-century festival a few years back, didn’t you?” It had been their last year of middle school, before Prompto had worked up the courage to make friends. He remembered watching the parade on TV, admiring the elegance and sheer _royalty_ of the king and the crown prince as they led the procession on chocoback. He’d reread Lady Lunafreya’s letter dozens of times in the days that followed, reminding himself that the Oracle herself believed Prompto worthy to be a friend to Prince Noctis. 

“Yeah, I’ve had riding lessons since I was little,” Noctis said. 

“He liked to hide in the Citadel stables as a child,” Ignis added dryly. 

“Really?” Prompto said. 

At the same time, Noctis protested, “Specs—”

“I knew all of His Highness’s hiding places,” Ignis told Prompto, ignoring Noct with the ruthlessness of a parent showing off their kid’s baby photos. “The stables were where he went to skive off from his more, ah, dull lessons.” 

Noctis slouched in his seat, arms folded tight, the hair over his face not enough to hide the furious blush along his cheeks. Gladio chuckled. “It was ‘cause he knew even if you found him, he’d still have to shower and change before being allowed back into the respectable parts of the Citadel, and usually the lesson would be over by then.” 

Prompto laughed. “If I could’ve skipped school to visit chocobos, I don’t think I would have gotten past sixth grade.” 

“See?” Noctis said to Ignis. “Prompto gets me.” 

Prompto held his fist out for Noctis to bump. “You’re gonna have to teach me how to ride, buddy.” 

“Definitely,” Noctis agreed. He launched into an explanation of the basics - how to get mounted and stay balanced while the chocobo was moving at different speeds - while Prompto peppered him with questions. By the time they turned onto a bone-jarringly uneven dirt road, Prompto thought he might be able to survive his first attempt at riding a chocobo without doing anything too embarrassing. 

Then he caught a glimpse of bright yellow out the window, and immediately forgot about everything else. The forest had thinned out, allowing the wind that blew across the face of the hill to sweep away the heavy fog. In its absence, he could see four chocobos milling around a wide pen in the shade of old-growth trees, pecking languidly at the grass and cooing to one another. Prompto rolled down his window so he could hear them better - and immediately recoiled at the moist, musty odor that hit him. 

In the back seat, Noctis laughed. “There’s a reason they made me shower before coming back into the Citadel after I’d been in the stables. Chocobos are great, but the smell, not so much.” 

“I’ll get used to it,” Prompto said firmly. It wasn’t actually that _bad_ of a smell. Just a strong one. He stuck his head out the window, breathing deeply as Ignis pulled the car to a bumpy halt. 

The ranch’s parking lot was a patch of ground that looked exactly the same as all the other ground, except several other vehicles were also parked there, including their future selves’ red car. The four of them climbed out, joining their future selves on the dirt path that wound up to the Wiz Chocobo Post. The ranch’s main building sat atop a low, broad hill, surrounded by chocobo stables, outdoor pens for the rentable birds, and silos. Ranch hands in dirty denim and leather bustled to and fro, obviously busy, and several small groups of people who were probably visitors or tourists milled about. 

Prompto was distantly aware that he was staring at everything with stars in his eyes and his mouth open like the city kid he was, but he didn’t care. He barely noticed Future Noctis motioning for Ignis and Gladio to join the adults at a cluster of aged but clean patio tables; all Prompto’s attention was on the most important part of the ranch: the trio of chocobos in the rental pens. 

“Now _this_ is what I’m talking about!” he crowed to Noctis. 

Noct grinned back and followed him over to the birds. “Here,” Noct said. “Hold out your hand like this.” He demonstrated, letting the nearest chocobo nip gently at his hand with its massive beak. 

Prompto started to extend his own hand, then hesitated. Up close, the birds were somehow a lot bigger than Prompto was expecting. Even though he’d seen them on TV before, it was different when he was standing right in front of one, looking up at a sharp beak that could stab straight through him. “Hey, uh, you sure it isn’t going to bite me or something?” 

“It’s fine,” Noctis said. He was already scratching his chocobo vigorously under its chin, but then Noct always made fast friends with animals. “See?” 

The chocobo in front of Prompto made a little trill, almost a question, and lowered its head so it could fix one huge black eye on him. Cautiously - wonderingly - Prompto touched its beak. The texture was odd, hard but strangely warm, and the chocobo trilled again, nudging its beak further into Prompto’s hand. Even more cautiously, Prompto put his other hand on the other side of the chocobo’s beak. It cheeped and nuzzled his palms.

“Noct,” he whispered. “Noct, look…!” 

Noctis laughed. “It likes you!” 

“I’m petting a chocobo,” Prompto said. His voice was breathless and several octaves higher than normal, but he didn’t care. He stroked the bird’s beak and under its chin like Noctis was doing, marveling at the sturdy softness of its feathers. “I’m actually petting a real live chocobo!” 

“You’re a natural,” Noctis agreed. 

Prompto barely heard him, all his attention on the chocobo. It was huge and warm and friendly, butting its big feathery head into his shoulder, and he didn’t stop petting it until Noctis and Ignis physically tugged him away to join the others for brunch from the ranch’s cafe. He ate as quickly as he could without choking, one eye on the chocobos the whole time, only half listening as the others discussed the logistics of their future selves’ plan to travel to Niflheim. 

It wasn’t until Noctis leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of Prompto’s eyes that Prompto reluctantly tugged his gaze away from the chocobos. Noct pointed wordlessly over Prompto’s shoulder, and he turned to see a short, stocky man with grey hair and a bright yellow bandanna tied around his neck. The man grinned at him, cheerful as a chocobo’s chirp. “Hey there,” he said, sounding amused. “Yer friends thought you might like a backstage tour.” He jerked a thumb at the enclosed stables behind him. “See the new-hatched chicks.” 

The thought of _baby chocobos_ short-circuited something in Prompto’s brain, and he gaped. The man laughed. “I’m Wiz,” he said, “and this here’s my chocobo ranch. Nice to meetcha.” 

“Uh - you too!” Prompto stammered. He stood up so quickly he almost knocked his chair over. “There’s chicks? I can see them?” 

Wiz chuckled again, a deep, warm sound. “Sure you can. Come with me.” 

Prompto started to follow him, then remembered he was supposed to be helping Noctis with this whole quest thing. But when he turned to ask, Noct was already making a shooing gesture at him. “Go,” Noct said with a grin. “I’ll fill you in later.” 

“You’re the best!” Prompto squeaked, and darted after Wiz. 

The baby chicks in their coop at the back of the stable were even cuter than Prompto had imagined: pumpkin-sized balls of bright yellow fluff. Wiz let him pet them, and their down was the softest thing Prompto had touched in his entire life. At some point, one of the ranch hands called Wiz away, but he didn’t make Prompto leave, so Prompto tucked himself against the back wall and let the chicks surround him. He knew he should return to the others, but after all the awful stuff he’d been through in the last couple of days - getting kidnapped by daemons, discovering the truth of his origins, learning about Noctis’s destiny - he thought he deserved to just sit and hold a softly-cooing chocobo chick for a while.

Distracted by the fluffball in his arms, he didn’t notice the voices on the other side of the wall right away. But then someone called, _Prompto!_ and he jerked in surprise. The chick he held let out a worried chirp and he absently petted it as he looked around for whoever had called his name. 

Noctis’s voice - no, Future Noctis, it was too deep and rough for his Noct - came from the other side of the wall, somewhere behind the stable building. “Prompto, _talk_ to me.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Prompto hunched down against the wall, simultaneously not wanting to listen in on what was clearly supposed to be a private conversation, and too curious to actually leave. The adults’ voices were moving closer as they spoke, and Prompto heard a few quick, uneven footsteps, like Future Noctis had limp-jogged to catch up to Future Prompto. “Hey,” Future Noctis said. “If you didn’t want to come here—”

“It’s fine!” Future Prompto said lightly, but Prompto didn’t need to see his adult self’s face to recognize the lie in his voice. 

“No it’s not,” Future Noctis said. His voice softened. “You used to love coming here, but now you won’t even look at the chocobos—”

“Don’t,” Future Prompto snapped. There was a long pause, then Future Prompto said more levelly, “It’s been ten years, Noct. Things change. I was into chocobos when I was a kid. I’m not a kid anymore. Okay?” 

“Prompto—”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Another pause. “Just leave it. Please.” 

Silence for a while, followed by footsteps crunching away over the gravel. A heavy sigh, audible even through the wall of the stable, then another set of limping footsteps moving in the opposite direction. Prompto let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. _Should’ve moved_ , he scolded himself. _This is what you get for spying._ At the same time, though, a part of him burned with awful, morbid curiosity. He couldn’t imagine not loving the ball of fluff in his arms in ten years, and he wanted - needed - to know what had happened to his future self to change that so drastically. 

Reluctantly, he set the chocobo chick down with its hatchmates, then pushed to his feet and slipped out of the stable. He spotted the two Ignises at the shop counter set into the outer wall of the ranch’s main building, while Gladio was watching Prince Noctis pet one of the rental chocobos again, and Future Gladio lounged at the patio table, flirting with a pretty brunette ranch hand. Prompto managed to not be noticed by any of them as he circled the stable. 

He found his future self at the back of the ranch, leaning on the stone wall that overlooked the Disc of Cauthess under a blanket of fog far to the west, his shoulders hunched and tense. Prompto eased closer, biting his lip as he tried to decide what to say. Gravel crunched under his boots, and— 

Holy shit. 

The barrel of his future self’s gun, seen from five inches away, was a freaking _cannon_. Prompto froze, his breath snagging in his chest, his heart racing. It took him a few seconds to be able to focus on anything past the gun pointed at his face, but finally he registered his future self staring at him. Future Prompto’s eyes were too wide, whites showing all around his irises like a spooked animal, and though his aim was rock-steady, the rest of him was shaking. His breathing came in weird little silent hitches, like he was trying to gasp without making any noise. 

They stood there for what felt like an hour, just staring at each other. Prompto couldn’t have moved if he’d tried, and some part of his mind that wasn’t screaming in terror was aware that that was for the best: he was pretty sure if he did move his future self would kill him on the spot. 

Then, just as abruptly as the gun had appeared, it vanished in a shower of glittering blue crystals. Prompto sagged backward, dimly aware of his future self doing the same. Future Prompto clutched at his right wrist, and though the gun was gone he didn’t look any calmer. 

Prompto turned on his heel and fled. 

He was halfway across the ranch’s front lawn when Future Gladio spotted him. The big man was on his feet and in front of Prompto in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, though his hands were gentle as he caught Prompto by the arms. 

For a second Prompto didn’t know what to say. _Future me pulled a gun on me for no reason_ probably wouldn’t go over very well. But Future Gladio was holding Prompto’s wrists in his massive hands, and that reminded Prompto of something he’d noticed about the two of them. He blurted, “I think Future Me needs you right now.” 

Future Gladio studied Prompto’s face for a long minute, his amber eyes both fiercely protective and somehow achingly sad. Then he nodded once, let go of Prompto, and strode off in the direction Prompto had come from. Once he’d vanished around the corner of the big ranch building, Prompto made his unsteady way back inside the stable. Bright yellow fluffballs crowded around his calves, chirping worriedly. He sat down in the middle of the coop, letting the chicks climb into his lap and burying his face in their feathers.

It was a long, long time before he stopped crying. 


	24. The Meldacio Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis finds out what happened to Prompto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!!! Thank you all so much for your patience. <3 It's been a rough few months, between a sharp uptick in work stress and _/waves vaguely at everything America_. Updates will likely be slower and less regular for a while, until I figure out how to recover from some of this burnout. I'm gonna keep at it, though - I can't pile this much angst on the boys and not fix it somehow!

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

“Ignis,” Noctis said. “We need to talk.” 

He’d tried to keep his voice neutral, but Ignis knew him too well; Noctis saw him brace himself. “About Prompto,” Ignis said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Noctis glanced around, even though he knew full well that Gladio and Prompto were nearly a mile south, shepherding the kids through their first hunt. “What the hell happened to him?” 

They’d left Wiz’s behind hours ago, once again following the sun west until they’d reached Fallaughns Haven with a couple hours before nightfall. Between getting the kids registered for chocobo rentals, and Ignis and his younger self buying additional supplies at the ranch’s shop, they’d used up the last of the gil the adults had had on hand. To supplement their funds, they’d picked up another couple of hunts from the tipster in the Cauthess Rest Area, which Gladio had figured would make for a good trial run for the kids learning to fight for real. He’d made Noctis stay behind at the haven with Ignis, though. 

_You’ve been limping all day,_ he’d said. _Stay put and heal up. We’ll need you in fighting form when we get to Gralea._

Noctis had put up just enough of a protest that Gladio wouldn’t get suspicious, but in truth, he’d been exaggerating the pain of the wound on his hip in the hope of getting a chance to talk to Ignis alone for an extended period of time. What was supposed to have been a fun side trip to the chocobo ranch had ended with Young Prompto being aggressively cheerful in the way he got when he was hiding how upset he was, and Adult Prompto curled in the back seat of the stolen car with his head resting on Gladio’s leg, faking sleep. 

Gladio had claimed Prompto was just tired from waking up in the middle of the night for watches lately, but Noctis had seen the worry that flashed across Ignis’s face. And even after Prompto woke up - or pretended to wake up, because Noctis might not know his best friend the way he used to but he could still recognize a fake yawn when he saw one - Prompto hadn’t once asked to move out of the back seat in the hours of driving. He’d stayed where Gladio could keep a hand around his wrist or on his knee, and had stared out the window in silence. 

After what Noctis had seen at the ranch, he wasn’t surprised. 

At least Prompto had agreed to go with Gladio and the kids on the hunt. It was clear Prompto didn’t want to tell Noctis whatever it was that was bothering him, but Ignis would know. Ignis obviously _did_ know, given the way his mouth tightened and his shoulders drooped. “Specs,” Noctis said quietly. 

“You should ask him,” Ignis answered. He was chopping vegetables for the night’s meal, and though his hands didn’t falter, the sound of the knife on the cutting board grew louder. 

“I tried,” Noctis said, and let his frustration into his voice. “He won’t tell me.” 

“All the more reason for me not to talk behind his back,” Ignis said. He shook his head. “It was a long time ago, Noct. Perhaps it’s best to let it stay in the past.” 

“It’s fucking _dangerous_ ,” Noctis snarled. The pent-up frustration and fear from the hours of driving in strained silence curled his hands into fists, and he didn’t bother modulating his tone. “He _pulled a gun_ on Kid Prompto, Ignis.” 

The steady sound of the knife on the cutting board faltered. “He what?” 

“He was half a pound of trigger pressure from shooting Kid Prompto in the face,” Noctis said. “The kid didn’t even do anything - Prompto was just standing there, and Kid Prompto walked up, and he—” Noct broke off, folded his arms against his chest. Ignis might not be able to see, but Noct wouldn’t put it past him to pick up on the way Noct’s hands were shaking with residual terror and shock.

He’d been coming around the far side of the stable, looking for Prompto, when he’d seen it. Too far away to get there in time to stop Prompto from pulling the trigger. Too shaken by seeing his best friend a hair’s breadth away from killing a kid to do anything but stare after Young Prompto escaped, until Gladio ran up and folded Prompto into an embrace. Noctis had made his own escape then, before either of them noticed him. Gladio had Prompto under control, and Noct had needed time to process what had just happened.

“...I see.” Ignis set down the knife and motioned for Noctis to join him in the chairs arranged around the haven’s campfire. A stalling tactic, though Noctis only recognized it from years of watching Ignis use similar ploys on Citadel underlings. That he was using it now meant he needed the time to gather his thoughts.

When they were both seated, Ignis said, “Before we begin, you should know that neither Gladio nor Prompto will appreciate me telling you. In fact, Gladio explicitly asked me not to, though I told him that if you were to ask, I would not lie.” 

“I don’t care if they don’t like it,” Noctis said. The words came out harsh, and he swallowed, made his voice calmer. “Whatever the hell it is, it’s hurting Prompto, and it’s putting the kids in danger. I need to know.”

Ignis nodded. “As I said, it was a long time ago. Perhaps a year or two after you left. I was coordinating refugee management in Lestallum and helping relay messages for the hunters. An urgent request came through for assistance in Meldacio, the old hunters’ outpost.” 

“I remember it,” Noctis said. He didn’t add, _it still_ was _the hunters’ outpost the last time I saw it._

“Not long before that request arrived,” Ignis continued, “Gladio had asked me not to send Prompto anywhere alone. I thought…” He hesitated, seeming to search for the right words. “Prompto had… a difficult time, after Gralea. He wasn’t operating at his best. We all knew it, even him.”

“Because of what I did to him,” Noctis whispered. The memory of Prompto’s horrified expression as he fell from the train, of the marks of torture that had covered his body when they’d found him again in Zegnautus, flashed through Noctis’s mind, bringing a surge of guilt with them.

“What Ardyn did to him,” Ignis corrected firmly. “I thought treating him with kid gloves wasn’t the right solution. He’s more than competent, and I felt he needed a chance to remind both himself and Gladio of that fact. The hunters in Meldacio were friends of his, with whom he’d worked several times before and whose company he seemed to enjoy. So I sent him to Meldacio alone, and left a message for Gladio that I had done so. But what Gladio did _not_ tell me was that he did not make that request only because of Prompto’s emotional state.”

Ignis’s voice was studiously neutral, his face expressionless. His hands, though, clasped and twisted between his knees. “There was… at the time, with Insomnia and Accordo so recently destroyed by Imperial daemons, MTs running rampant, the sun fading behind the miasma… There was a great deal of anti-Imperial sentiment, despite the best efforts of what few leaders remained. I was aware of it, of course, but I…” 

Noctis’s stomach twisted as he realized where Ignis was going with this. “Prompto’s not an Imperial,” he protested.

“Not everyone believes that,” Ignis said heavily. “Gladio had heard a rumor, among the hunters, that resources were not to be expended to save Niflheim citizens, and members of the Imperial army were to be killed on sight. I’ve no proof, but I strongly suspect Ardyn Izunia was feeding those rumors. And that he was targeting Prompto in particular.” 

The knot in Noctis’s stomach grew tighter. The thought that hunters - Lucians - _his_ countrymen - could so callously abandon or kill innocents was appalling, but even more now he dreaded the answer to his next question. “What happened?” 

Ignis didn’t say anything right away, though his hands kept twisting around each other where they hung between his knees. Noctis had never seen him look so… so _guilty_ , he realized abruptly. Ignis looked guilty, as though he felt he was at fault for whatever had happened to Prompto. Reaching across the space between them, he caught one of Ignis’s hands in his own. “Specs,” he said softly.

Ignis grimaced, though he didn’t turn his head toward Noctis as he normally made an effort to do when he spoke. “The hunters ambushed Prompto,” he said. “All but killed him. Gladio and Cor found him in time to save him, but it was a close thing.”

Noct had already guessed that, but hearing it said out loud still turned his insides to ice. “Stars,” he muttered, though the word felt inadequate. “Fuck.” 

“Indeed,” Ignis said. “...I also understand his chocobo died protecting him, which perhaps is what led to such a reaction on Prompto’s part today.” 

“Stars,” Noctis said again, as the implications sunk in. He didn’t quite manage to keep the growl out of his voice as he added, “You couldn’t have warned me about that? _Before_ I took him to the fucking _chocobo ranch?”_

“It’s been nearly a decade,” Ignis protested. “I thought—No. I did not think.” He sighed. “I suppose I expected Prompto to speak up, if he believed it would cause him such distress. Or Gladio. You might have noticed, he’s quite protective of him.” 

“I noticed,” Noctis admitted. “They’re, uh. A lot closer than when I… left.” 

Ignis’s mouth twisted. “Gladio would deny it, of course, but I suspect, in your absence, that he came to consider Prompto his charge.” 

From the tone of Ignis’s voice, he didn’t approve of that, but Noctis did. “I’m glad,” he said vehemently. “Especially if you’re right that Ardyn was targeting Prompto.” Then something occurred to him and he demanded, “What happened to the hunters who attacked him? Did you—If Ardyn was behind it, then did you—”

Ignis sighed again, a heavy, pained sound. “No,” he said, very quietly. “By the time of the Meldacio incident, the sentiment had already taken too firm a hold to root out. We did what we could, but…” He shook his head. “We couldn’t be everywhere, Gladio and Cor and I. The hunters spent their lives - deathly literally, in most cases - fighting daemons. It was hardly a secret that Niflheim’s research into daemons was a major factor in the spread of Starscourge. At least among the majority of the hunters, the sentiment stuck.” 

“Then Prompto—”

“Cindy made it quite clear that she will not tolerate any anti-Imperial sentiment, including overt attacks on Prompto, in or around Hammerhead,” Ignis said. “She can’t protect him everywhere, but Hammerhead is too valuable an outpost to the hunters. They leave Prompto alone so long as he doesn’t stray so far that a fatal accident could be believably excused.” 

Noctis’s stomach was a hard knot, his lungs struggling to draw in air. Prompto had mentioned offhand, when Noctis had first reunited with the guys in Hammerhead days ago, that he hadn’t left Leide in years - but Noct had had no idea he meant something like this. “That’s…” He let go of Ignis’s hand to bow his head and dig his fingers in his hair. “He could have told me,” he said. “He could have—” He bit off the words, guilt twisting in his gut. 

“Noct,” Ignis said softly, as though sensing where Noctis’s thoughts had gone.

But the guilt wasn’t so easily banished. “I guess I can’t blame him for not trusting me,” Noctis said to his knees. “After what I did…” 

“Stop that,” Ignis said, though the words were mild. “No one blames you for what happened ten years ago on that train, Noct. Not Prompto, not Gladio, not I.” 

“Then why wouldn’t they tell me?” 

Ignis was silent for several aching heartbeats. “I suppose,” he said finally, in a voice no less hurting than Noct’s, “that at the time, they thought it wasn’t relevant.” 

“Because I was just going to die,” Noctis whispered, and Ignis flinched so hard the legs of his camp chair scraped against the stone. “That’s it, isn’t it.” 

“It would only have hurt you,” Ignis said. There was a thready wobble in his voice and Noct didn’t dare look up at him. “You are already taking on far more than the Astrals should have asked of anyone. None of us wished to add to that burden.” 

“It wouldn’t have!” Noctis protested. “I… I _missed_ you guys, Ignis, _Stars_ I missed you! I would rather have known, even if…” The words choked him, twisting in his throat. His voice was very small when he added, “Why didn’t they trust me?” 

Ignis didn’t answer, which was probably for the best. They both knew the most likely answer lay in the decade Noctis had been gone: in Prompto and Gladio being friends for twice as long as Prompto and Noctis had been, in Gladio protecting Prompto for as long as he’d protected Noctis. It hurt, bitter razors tearing through Noct’s heart, but at the same time, he couldn’t blame them. Ten years was a long, long time. 

“I should finish preparing dinner,” Ignis said eventually, his voice quiet. “The others will return soon.” 

“...Yeah.” 

Noctis stayed in the chair by the fire as Ignis made his way back to the little camp table. The setting sun burned brilliant orange and red through the trees; somewhere in the distance an anak crooned to its calf. Noctis wondered absently if Ignis remembered the other time they’d stayed at this haven, ten years ago. He’d asked Noctis to help him prepare breakfast, and they’d made bad puns and talked about Ignis’s love of cooking - or at least, his love of making people happy via cooking for them. 

...Ignis probably didn’t remember. It had been ten years for him, too. 

Noctis buried his head in his hands again. A few nights ago, at the campsite overlooking Insomnia in the future, in the Citadel guest room in the past, Noctis had thought the decade he’d lost wasn’t insurmountable. His friends had grown and changed, and so had Noct, even if he didn’t have ten years of memories as well. But this… How could he overcome something like this? He’d abandoned his best friend - his brother - to suffer and nearly die at the hands of people who were supposed to be on their side. 

He didn’t have an answer for that.


	25. Lord Amicitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Gladio and Future Gladio discuss their companions' shortcomings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been fighting me for a while - hence the slow updates. I think I've got it unstuck now, though I also think y'all aren't going to like how I got it unstuck... }:]

**Gladiolus (Age 20 ~~and 11 months~~ )**

* * *

“Spit it out,” Gladiolus groused at his future self as they headed back to the haven. “You think we were shit.” 

Future Gladio snorted. “Wouldn’t go that far.” 

“But.” 

“But, yeah, you got a long way to go.” 

Gladiolus snorted, then realized it was the exact same thing his future self had just done, and scowled instead. He thought they’d done pretty well against the small herd of bulettes, considering it was their first real fight as a team. They hadn’t been _great_ , sure, but the bulettes were dead and nobody had been hurt beyond a few bumps and scrapes. Noctis had been fast on his feet and level-headed enough that Gladiolus hadn’t had to cover him for making stupid mistakes, while Prompto had displayed remarkable sense by staying well back from the action and being careful to only shoot where he was unlikely to hit any of his companions. The kid was still objectively terrible, but then, he’d only picked up a gun for the first time yesterday. 

Gladiolus had expected Future Prompto to do more to help the kid - hang back with him, give him pointers, _something_ , but instead Future Prompto had stayed a full ninety degrees around the outer edge of the fight the entire time. Maybe he wanted to make sure he could cover the fight from a different angle, or maybe he and Future Gladio had had some kind of monitoring plan worked out in case either of them needed to dive in. Whatever, Prompto’d done okay enough without his future self. 

Ignis was another matter. He’d managed to get his daggers out of the armory on the first try instead of locking up in a panic like he’d done back at Hammerhead, at least. But despite having passed his Crownsguard entrance exams last month, he hadn’t done anything to convince Gladiolus to upgrade his mental assessment of him from “liability” to “ally” in a fight. Prompto could be excused as having never been trained, but Ignis should have done better. Then again, Gladiolus was the trained Shield. Ignis was a chamberlain and secretary, whose job was paperwork, bookkeeping, and cat-herding. 

Gladiolus still didn’t know Ignis very well, for all that they saw each other more often now that Gladiolus was actively working as Noct’s Shield. Most of the time, they only actually interacted when coordinating Noct’s schedule; otherwise, they each tended to their own responsibilities. Gladiolus knew Ignis had passed the Crownsguard exams with reasonably high marks - enough that Gladiolus didn’t think he’d been babied through it. But where Gladiolus spent every second he wasn’t at Noct’s side in training, Ignis spent every second buried up to his fancy eyeglasses in paperwork. It was no surprise he wasn’t ready for real-world fighting. 

Future Gladio glanced up ahead, to where Noct and Prompto were still chattering at each other over the successful hunt, while Ignis tried to keep them from bouncing off the path in adrenaline-fueled excitement and Future Prompto kept an eye out for any early-rising demons. Gladiolus was expecting his future self to comment on Ignis, so it caught him off-guard when Future Gladio said in a low voice, “Your Noct can’t warp yet.” 

Gladiolus fought the urge to hunch his shoulders defensively. Warping was a sore subject at best with Noct. “Maybe you forgot, old man, but magic isn’t easy for him,” he snapped. “We were going to start focusing his training on it after he graduated high school.” 

“Easy there,” Future Gladio said. “I remember. Just… kid’s gonna need to get the hang of it pretty damn quick out here.” 

He didn’t sound like he was trying to pick a fight, at least, so Gladiolus decided to let it go. “I got a lesson plan ready,” he said. “Well. It’s all in books back home. But I remember enough to get started.” 

Future Gladio shook his head. “Your lesson plan won’t work.” He held up a hand to stop Gladiolus from protesting. “I wrote the same lesson plan, remember? Spent a year and a half trying to beat it into Noct’s head with nothing to show for it except how much he hated me for a while.” 

“So what _did_ work?” Gladiolus asked. “Your Noct can warp, so you got there in the end.” 

“Wasn’t me,” Future Gladio admitted. “Noct’s just stubborn as shit. And I think…” He threw another glance at the others, then lowered his voice, even though they were already too far behind to be overheard. “Look. He didn’t manage his first warp until after the peace treaty with Niflheim got announced. Took him the rest of the time between then and when we left Insomnia to even be able to do it reliably, or more than once or twice without burning himself out. And that was with him practicing every second he wasn’t doing prince shit getting ready for the treaty.” 

“He was warping just fine yesterday at Hammerhead,” Gladiolus said. “I thought you guys said there were only a few months between the treaty and when he got sucked into the Crystal.” 

“There were,” Future Gladio agreed. “We spent most of those few months fighting like that—” He waved a hand over his shoulder to indicate the bulette hunt— “or MTs, or worse, pretty much every goddamn day. He got a lot of real-world practice in. Figuring out how to do it in the first place was the biggest hurdle.” 

“So how do we help him figure it out faster?” 

“Fortunately,” Future Gladio said with a smirk, “we have another Noctis who _has_ figured it out who can help him.” 

Gladiolus considered. It was actually a pretty good idea, all things considered. He knew the problems Noctis had with magic were tied to the near-fatal injury the Marilith had given him when he was a child; knew, too, that Noct’s inability to use magic was a constant, grating source of frustration for him. He’d been trying since he was ten to produce the small handheld flame that all Kingsglaive candidates were expected to demonstrate before even being considered as trainees, and which most past Lucis Caelums had been known to do as an absentminded tic. But Noctis had never managed so much as a spark. Regis had given him the Engine Blade on his sixteenth birthday in the hope of helping him develop his elemancy, but even that hadn’t helped. 

Future Noctis, though, had clearly figured it out - at least the warping part, if his performance at Hammerhead was anything to go by. And Gladiolus had seen the way Noct looked at his future self with stars in his eyes. Noct hadn’t even seen Future Noctis fight Glauca, but just knowing Future Noctis _could_ do magic would probably count for a lot during a lesson. 

“Okay,” Gladiolus said. “You planning on sticking around another day after tomorrow, or you think tonight’ll be enough?” 

“We’ll see,” Future Gladio said. He jerked his chin at the path ahead, where the blue glow of the haven’s runes shone through the trees. “Let’s get them started first, see where they end up.” 

* * *

An hour later, they’d finished dinner and cleanup, and had cleared the chairs and cooking gear off the top of the haven so the Noctises had space to move. Noct was practically bouncing, excited about the prospect of learning to warp from his future self, though Future Noctis had been distracted and brooding since they’d gotten back to the haven. He was at least trying to look enthusiastic for his younger self’s sake, but it was obvious to Gladiolus that his mind was elsewhere. Probably something to do with Future Prompto, given how Future Noctis kept glancing at him when he thought no one was looking. More specifically, something to do with whatever had had Future Prompto on edge since the chocobo ranch. 

Gladiolus fucking _hated_ people keeping secrets. 

He was debating just straight-up _asking_ Future Noctis about it, on the grounds that he needed Future Noctis’s mind on training Noct, but his future self interrupted him with a tap on the arm. When Gladiolus turned around, Future Gladio caught his eye and threw a significant glance at Ignis. 

Right. The other problem that needed dealing with. “So you did notice, huh?” he said, too low for Ignis to hear. 

Future Gladio gave an exasperated huff. “I can legitimately say a blind man would’ve noticed, ‘cause I’ve seen Igs call out trainee hunters for the same shit your Ignis was pulling.” 

“He locked up in Hammerhead yesterday, too,” Gladiolus admitted. “When the shit hit the fan with Glauca and your Noctis. Couldn’t get his daggers out of the armory.” 

“Figures,” Future Gladio muttered. 

“If I may,” Future Ignis spoke up from behind them, making Gladiolus startle - he hadn’t realized Future Ignis was listening. He was only slightly gratified to see his future self likewise twitch. They both turned to look at Future Ignis, who had been packing away the last of the cleaned and dried dishes, but now stood up to face them.

“I would never suggest you go easy on any Crownsguard, much less myself,” Future Ignis continued. “However, I feel I ought to remind you, Gladio—” with a tilt of his head toward Future Gladio to make clear which one of them he meant— “that you and I both experienced a real-world combat situation prior to leaving Insomnia.” He touched a finger to his cheek under his left eye; it took Gladiolus a second to realize he wasn’t indicating his own hideous scar, but the thin, faded line that ran over Future Gladio’s left eye. 

Future Gladio’s expression went abruptly cold and hard; he looked unnervingly like Clarus when he was angry. “I oughta remind _you_ ,” he said in a flat voice, “to mind your own fucking business.” 

Gladiolus felt his eyebrows go up at the venom in his future self’s voice. Future Ignis straightened his spine and said mildly, “He asked. I did warn you.” 

He wasn’t talking about the conversation they’d just been having about Ignis. More goddamn secrets, and Gladiolus said pointedly, “You two need a minute?” 

“Not necessary,” Future Ignis said. 

Future Gladio took a breath as if to argue, then let it out in a sigh, instead. Turning his back deliberately on Future Ignis, he said to Gladiolus, “Gonna take Kid Iggy to get some combat practice in. Wanna come with?”

“Actually,” Future Ignis interjected again, “I’ll be the one working with my, er, past self.” 

“Igs—”

“That is all, Lord Amicitia,” Future Ignis said, and this time Gladiolus recognized the mildness in his tone as a much more subtle version of the way Ignis spoke when he was one self-controlled breath away from punching someone. “Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.” He inclined his head, the barest bow that was still appropriate for the difference in rank between them, and strode past them both to where his younger self was monitoring the Noctises. 

Future Gladio watched him go, a frown furrowing his brow in a way that made him look like Clarus again. Gladiolus scowled at his future self. “The hell was that about?” 

“Ah,” Future Gladio said, and shook himself. “Way back when - I think it was right around when Noct graduated, so would’ve been a few months away for you - some drunk idiot came at us on the street. Had more Galahdian patriotism and whiskey bravery than common sense, and a knife with it. I took the hit for Noct.” He tapped the scar down his eye. 

“That ain’t what I’m talking about and you fucking well know it,” Gladiolus growled. 

“Yeah,” Future Gladio said, which was so unexpected that Gladiolus’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at his future self. Future Gladio sighed and ran a hand over his hair, looking away into the dark of the forest for a moment. When he looked back at Gladiolus, his eyes were tired, and yet again Gladiolus saw his father in the man. “Don’t ask,” he said, very quietly. “Just… pray to whoever you think might still care that you don’t end up where we are.” 

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode over to where Future Prompto was watching the Noctises discuss the logistics of warping and phasing. He draped an arm around Future Prompto’s shoulders, and Gladiolus didn’t miss the way Future Noctis watched the gesture, his grey eyes shadowed with pain and old sorrow until he was yanked back into the warping lesson by a pointed question from Noct. 

_Astrals._ Gladiolus hated secrets, but maybe, just this once, his future self was right. Gladiolus had never been especially religious, and anyway Future Noctis had said back in the Citadel that the gods weren’t as benevolent as most people thought, but he still made the sign of Bahamut anyway. His job was protecting Noct from anything and everything, and if that meant praying to a god that didn’t care on the off chance Gladiolus could save Noct from whatever hurt was tearing their future selves apart… 

He’d do it.


	26. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adult Ignis does some mending.

**Ignis (Age 32)**

* * *

“That is all, Lord Amicitia,” Ignis said, and it took every ounce of his will to keep his voice from betraying his anger. “Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.” 

He should have been the bigger person and bowed properly, but… he _couldn’t_. Instead, he made as hasty an exit as he could get away with. He strode across the haven, but passed the spot where he thought his younger self was and instead went to the very edge of the blessed stone, stopping only when his toes rocked forward over empty air. 

Astrals, he was beyond tired of this. He and Gladio had been having this fight for close to a decade, ever since that horrific night when Gladio had called him demanding to know why he’d sent Prompto to Meldacio alone. Gladio had never stopped blaming Ignis for what had happened, even though, on Ignis’s most uncharitable days, he let himself acknowledge that Gladio was as much to blame as Ignis had been. But Gladio sharing the blame didn’t change what had happened to Prompto - not the nearly-successful murder attempt, nor the years of more subtle but no less painful torments. 

Gladio was still angry about that, just as Ignis still felt guilty about it. It was a wound half-healed at best, and the events at the chocobo ranch, then Ignis telling Noctis the whole story, had torn it wide and bleeding once more. Ignis couldn’t let Gladio take out that anger on Ignis’s younger self, in a supposed practice bout or otherwise. Besides, Gladio’s particular brand of tough love wasn’t what Ignis’s younger self needed right now. 

When he had himself under control once more, Ignis made his way back around the cleared center of the haven, where Noctis was guiding Young Noctis through a focusing exercise. He found his younger self mostly by the nostalgic scent of his cologne; two days of roughing it wasn’t enough for the scent to have faded. His younger self startled at the touch of Ignis’s hand on his shoulder, fabric rustling and his shoulder shifting as he turned to look up at him. 

Ignis pretended not to notice, lowering himself down to a cross-legged seat beside him. His companions were all accustomed to the light touches Ignis used to orient himself; he had forgotten that at age twenty, Ignis himself had not been fond of touching or being touched. He fought the urge to sigh in annoyance at himself, and instead tilted his ear toward the center of the cleared space as if observing the warping lesson.

His younger counterpart, of course, saw through the ruse immediately. “I suppose you’re here to scold me,” he said. His voice was tightly controlled, tense as a wire. 

“Do you feel you need scolding?” Ignis asked. 

The control cracked; Ignis suspected his younger self was glaring at him now. “I saw you speaking with Gladio and… and your Gladio. I’m well aware I comported myself poorly on that hunt. I was a disgrace to Marshal Leonis and all those who trained me.” 

Out in the center of the haven, Young Noctis was making an attempt at phasing with Noctis’s guidance, while Young Prompto and Young Gladio cheered him on. Ignis had lost track of the adult Gladio and Prompto, though it wouldn’t surprise him if they’d gone off somewhere to calm each other down. No one was paying any attention to either Ignis or his younger self; they had as much privacy as possible without conspicuously leaving the haven. 

Ignis kept his face turned toward the Noctises, but lowered his voice for his younger self’s ears alone. “The first time I killed a man, I spent days locked in my apartment being sick.” 

A long pause. Then, tentative and afraid: “Who did you kill?” 

“His name was Sicarius Arborior,” Ignis said. All these years, and he’d never forgotten. “He assaulted me while I was passing through the Berna Street Market. We were never able to uncover a motive, though Cor’s best guess was that he intended to kidnap me for leverage against Noctis, and therefore King Regis.” He hesitated, then added, “To be honest, I thought that had already happened to you. It was around this time, as best I recall.” 

A slight rustle as his younger self shrugged. “I suppose I should consider myself lucky, then, that circumstances indicate it won’t happen to me.” 

“Not against Sicarius Arborior,” Ignis said. He didn’t add, _But it will happen against someone else._

“Bulettes are just animals,” his younger self said, a plaintive note in his voice. “Not people. And I’m hardly a vegetarian, either. Yet, the bulettes tonight, and the garula yesterday…” He trailed off. 

Ignis honestly didn’t remember how much his younger self had participated in the garula hunt - since Gladio had gone with them, the “hunt” had mostly consisted of Gladio sneaking close and putting his blade through the carotid artery of his chosen prey. Even Ignis hadn’t had to do more than stay out of the way of the resulting stampede, and then help Gladio field-dress and carry the dead beast. Still, he understood what his younger self was trying to say. “A life is a life, and taking a life is no small matter.” 

More rustling, the quiet sounds of rubber-soled Crownsguard shoes against rock and the creak of a belt. When his younger counterpart next spoke, his voice was muffled as though he’d drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. “I’m supposed to be Crownsguard now. Yet today, against those bulettes, I…” A long pause, a soft sniffle. “How did you kill that man? I could barely bring myself to strike the bulettes.” 

“My training took over,” Ignis admitted. “If I hadn’t drilled that specific defensive move against my instructors a thousand times, I likely would have been captured. But you weren’t trained to kill bulettes.” 

“But I _was_ trained to kill,” his younger self protested. A hesitation, a restless shifting; Ignis bit his tongue and waited. Finally his younger self said, “How did you recover? After being sick in your apartment?” 

“Noctis needed me,” Ignis said simply.

“Was… was Gladio mad at you?” 

“He didn’t know,” Ignis said. “The only person who did was Monica - Crownsguard Monica Elshett. She covered for me to Cor and Gladio and the others. Though I believe Noctis guessed, because he became… rather more helpless and needy than usual over the following weeks, in ways which required my full attention for the whole day.”

His younger counterpart snorted. “Sounds like Noct.” 

“Your Noct needs you, just as mine needed me,” Ignis said gently. “A low-stakes bulette hunt, with companions by your side, is quite different from being ambushed alone in a Crown City alley. Your performance over the past two days is not an indication of your ability to fulfil that need.”

“Perhaps,” his younger self allowed, though doubt still clouded his voice. 

“Would it make you feel better if I scolded you anyway?” Ignis asked dryly. 

That earned him a somewhat choked laugh. “No, I think not.” 

Ignis reached out, found his younger counterpart’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know you can do this. I did it, and far, far worse in the last twelve years.”

“I know,” his younger self said. His voice was soft, and much older than it should have been for his age. “I suppose… that’s what scares me.” 

* * *

The warping lesson ended two hours later without a successful warp on Young Noctis’s part, which was disappointing if not surprising. While the boy was clearly frustrated and disheartened, he hadn’t sunk into the depressive funk Ignis remembered all too well from his own Noct’s warping lessons, which Ignis considered a credit to his own Noct as a teacher. Ignis still remembered how much Noct had hated learning to warp, simply because of how frustrating and painful the experience was; he was glad it wouldn’t have to be so for Young Noctis. 

Their younger selves had retired to their tent, and Noctis had retired to the adults’, but Ignis stayed up, half-heartedly making preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast. He hadn’t missed that Gladio and Prompto had not yet returned to the haven from wherever they’d wandered to. As angry as he was at Gladio, Ignis certainly didn’t wish him ill, and part of him worried that the two of them had grown overconfident here in the past, and been ambushed by daemons or worse. 

It was with relief that, most of an hour after the others had gone to bed, Ignis finally heard two sets of footsteps climbing up to the top of the haven. “Welcome back,” he called. 

It was mostly to verify their identities; he recognized their footsteps but it was still helpful to have verbal confirmation. Gladio merely grunted, which meant he was still upset, but Prompto called, “Heya, Igs.”

Ignis nodded to them as they passed him to go to their tent, but stayed at his prep table. He still had a few vegetables to cut up, and it would be less awkward for all involved if they could both pretend to be asleep when Ignis finally retired. He heard the tent flap rustle and a low murmur of voices, and let himself relax, focused on the knife in his hand and the vegetables under the blade.

Then Prompto said from right behind him, “So, um.” 

Ignis barely managed not to jump or squeak or slice his fingers on the knife, but he must have reacted still because Prompto said quickly, “Sorry! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“It’s all right,” Ignis said automatically. “I sometimes forget how quiet you can be.” 

A rustle of fabric as Prompto shrugged. They both knew he’d learned silence and stealth after the Meldacio incident. “I sometimes forget you don’t actually have magic vibration-sight powers.” 

Ignis smiled to let him know it was all right, though the expression faded quickly. “You wanted to speak with me?” 

“Yeah.” A restless shifting, then, “I, uh. I wanted…” A pause, a sigh. “Look. Thanks for… for telling Noct. About…” 

“About Meldacio,” Ignis supplied gently when Prompto didn’t continue, and heard him nod. Cautiously, Ignis added, “I will admit, that is not the sentiment I was expecting. Gladio was furious at me.” 

Prompto huffed out a little laugh. “I told Gladio to shove it up his ass and sit on it. He’s being an overprotective dick and he knows it.”

“He doesn’t want to see you hurt again,” Ignis said. “You _or_ Noct.” 

He’d realized something else in the last hour, alone with his thoughts after his initial fury had died down. Gladio was protective by nature - of Prompto as Ignis had told Noctis earlier, but also of Noct, his first and primary charge. Most likely, Gladio’s disproportionate anger at Ignis was because Ignis telling Noctis the truth had not only dug up old hurts for Prompto, but also caused fresh pain for Noct. 

Prompto responded with another shrug. “Honestly, I’d rather Noct knew, y’know? I mean, you and Gladio know anyway, and it’s not like—I mean, it’s not that I _wanted_ to hide it or anything. I just…” He trailed off; Ignis waited for him to gather his thoughts. “Just, now that we’re here, and he’s not—” His voice cracked.

“Now that we have time,” Ignis said, and tried to ignore the hole those words dug into his own heart. 

“Yeah.” A hesitation, with more restless fidgeting; finally he continued, “I didn’t know how—at the ranch today, he asked, but I couldn’t…” A hitch in his voice, an audible gulp.

As gently as he could, Ignis said, “He saw what happened between you and your younger self. He knew something was wrong.”

“Fuck,” Prompto muttered, but there was no heat behind it. Leather creaked; he was worrying at his right wrist. 

Ignis knew better than to try to touch Prompto’s wrist - Gladio was the only one whose touch Prompto tolerated there. He rested a hand on Prompto’s shoulder instead. “Are you all right?”

Prompto blew out a breath. “Yeah. For now. It’s… it sneaks up on me, sometimes, is all.” 

“Like at the ranch.”

“Yeah.” Another hesitation. “Is Noct… is he mad at me?” 

“Of course not,” Ignis said. He debated with himself for a moment about how much else to say; finally settled for, “More than anything, I believe he’s worried about you, and upset that you went through that when he wasn’t able to be there for you.” 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Prompto said immediately. “He’s the Chosen King, he had to do…” A shift of air as he waved a hand. “Crystal things. And I know he would’ve stopped all… all _that_ if he could’ve.” 

By _that_ , Prompto meant the anti-Imperial sentiment that had fueled so much death and suffering in the last decade. Ignis nodded, but said, “I think he would appreciate hearing that from you.” 

Prompto made a noise low in his throat, a sort of audible wince; it was one of the many little habits he’d picked up over the years to make things easier for Ignis. “Oh, sure,” he said bitterly. His voice shifted to a falsely cheerful tone. “‘Hey Noct, don’t worry about me almost dying nine years ago, it wasn’t your fault, you had to go get charged up to be sacrificed by your dead ancestors.’ Yeah,” he added, bitter again. “That’ll go well.”

Ignis raised a pointed eyebrow at him. 

“Oh shut up,” Prompto grumbled. “Fine, I’ll… I’ll talk to him. Okay?” 

“That is all I ask,” Ignis said gently. “Thank you, Prompto.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said, and sighed. 

“Get some rest,” Ignis suggested. “I’ll stand watch. We’ll be infiltrating an Imperial base tomorrow - we must be well prepared.”

“Yeah,” Prompto said again. His shoes scuffed against the rock as he started to turn, then stopped; he put a hand on Ignis’s arm and squeezed. “Thanks, Igs.” 

Ignis covered Prompto’s hand with his own. “Get some sleep.” 

Prompto nodded and pulled away, slipping into the tent and leaving Ignis alone with his thoughts once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a common fanon interpretation holds that Ignis is a cold-hearted assassin who never bats an eye at killing, but especially after Ep: Ignis, I feel like he has way more passion and emotions burning under that refined facade than anyone (including his own friends) gives him credit for. But emotions run both ways, and this younger Ignis hasn't been through a life-or-death situation yet...


	27. Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys get ready to set out on their journey.

**Prompto (Age 18)**

* * *

Prompto’s third morning waking up in a tent outside the safety of the Crown City was… well, it wasn’t the worst of the three. That had been that first awful morning, before he’d truly understood what was going on, when he’d been lost and helpless and terrified. But this was definitely the second-worst morning. He’d had nightmares about armies of MTs mowing down armies of chocobo knights, in a scene straight out of _King’s Knight_ except that all the MTs and all the knights had his face under their helmets. 

_Not exactly subtle,_ he thought at his subconscious. 

Opening his eyes, he took stock of the tent’s residents, trying to decide if he could escape to go on a dawn run. Noctis’s back was pressed against him from shoulder to hip, but thankfully he’d decided to sleep-cling to Gladio instead of Prompto. Ignis was on Prompto’s other side, but Ignis wasn’t a cuddler, and seemed deeply asleep for once. Prompto was able to ease up and out of the tent without waking any of them.

Outside, dawn was just beginning to lighten the horizon behind the trees from velvety black to crisp indigo. It was still strange to see the sky without the shimmering barrier of the Wall, and Prompto couldn’t believe how many stars still glittered in the west. The campfire had died down to carefully-banked embers, and in the absence of its yellow light, the blue magic of the haven’s runes glowed softly. Dew traced along the arms of the camp chairs, etched shining lines along the edges of the tents, catching the light and breaking it into thousands of glittering pieces. It was shockingly beautiful, and for a homesick moment, Prompto wished he had his camera.

A quiet grunting off to the side caught his attention, and he turned to see Future Gladio doing one-armed pull-ups on a tree just off the edge of the haven. Future Gladio caught Prompto’s eye in acknowledgement, finished his set, and dropped to the ground. He was barely breathing hard, which Prompto thought was entirely unfair. Then again, the guy’s biceps were practically the size of Prompto’s whole waist. 

“Mornin’,” Future Gladio rumbled, his voice low to avoid waking the others. 

“Morning,” Prompto answered. “I, uh, wanted to go for a run. Is that okay?” 

Future Gladio glanced eastward, toward the lightening sky. “Yeah, go east and you’ll be fine. Just stay away from any bulettes if you spot ‘em.” 

“Right,” Prompto agreed. He hesitated, bouncing in place; he felt like he ought to do something, say something else. But Future Gladio was already climbing back up into the tree to start a new set of pull-ups with his other arm, like it was totally normal to do your morning workout in the wilds of greater Lucis while keeping an eye out for wild animal attacks. Then again, for him it probably was. Prompto did one last warm-up bounce, then jogged down the side of the haven and away into the trees. 

He gave himself a few minutes at an easy pace, working out the lingering stiffness of days in the car and nights sleeping on hard rock. The bruises around his torso and the scrapes on the bottoms of his feet from when the daemons had carried him weren’t so easily shaken off, but he could ignore them. By the time his body felt loose and comfortable again, he’d broken out of the trees into an open, hilly plain. Power line towers studded the hilltops and an enormous pipe ran along the ground into the horizon, strangely industrial against the otherwise pastoral landscape. Prompto eyed the distance between the line towers and made a snap decision - then took off running, feet pounding against the grass, breath singing in his lungs as he pushed himself as fast as he could go. 

He passed the first tower at a sprint, silver flashing past in his peripheral vision. By the time he reached the second tower, he was gasping and his legs felt like noodles; he figured he’d run nearly half a mile at max speed. He slowed to a loping jog to cover the distance to the third tower and leaned against one of its spindly legs for a minute, getting his breath back. He took the return route at a much easier speed, and by the time he got back to the haven, he felt more like himself, the overly-symbolic nightmares faded behind the mindless focus of running. 

The others were up and about by now, even both Noctises, though Future Noctis was yawning as he helped Future Ignis dish out breakfast, and Noct was all but nodding off in one of the camp chairs. When Prompto jogged up to the top of the haven, though, Noct sat up and waved.

“Heya,” Prompto said. He dropped down to sit on the rock next to Noct’s chair and started his cooldown stretches.

“Oh, Stars, you stink,” Noctis groused. 

“Next time I get kidnapped by daemons and hauled on a cross-country journey with my best friend, I’ll make sure to pack deodorant and a change of clothes,” Prompto shot back with a smirk. It earned an answering grin from Noct, which was a relief. Noct had been bummed as hell last night that he hadn’t managed to warp, even though he’d tried to hide it, and Prompto was glad to see he was in a better mood this morning. 

“What’s the matter, Princess?” Gladio snarked, clapping Noct on the shoulder as he walked past with a plate of breakfast. “Can’t handle a little sweat?” 

“There’s eight of us and we haven’t showered in three days,” Noctis grumbled back. “That’s more than ‘a little’ sweat.” 

“The Coernix station at which we’ll stop this afternoon has a caravan where we can clean up,” Future Ignis spoke up. He handed first Noct, then Prompto, plates of veggie-stuffed omelettes that had Prompto’s mouth watering instantly. “That said, I recommend getting used to the lack of personal hygiene options. You’ll not have the time, nor the money, to stay at a motel every night.” 

“Great,” Noct muttered. Prompto leaned his sweat-soaked back against Noct’s legs, just to be obnoxious, and dug into his omelette. His manly stench apparently didn’t bother Noct enough to stop him from leaning down to slide a mound of picked-out veggies onto Prompto’s plate. Ignis, sitting nearby, heaved a loud and pointed sigh, and Noct traded a smug grin with Prompto.

It almost felt normal - or at least, whatever passed for normal out here on this crazy trip. 

“So,” Gladio said around a mouthful of omelette. “We’re supposed to make this royal tomb by midafternoon, right?” 

Future Ignis nodded. “Assuming a smooth drive and no complications at the tomb itself.” 

“Then north to drop you four off at Aracheole Stronghold for a midnight infiltration, and we go on to Sothmocke Haven to spend the night,” Ignis said. 

“When you put it like that, it sounds so easy,” Prompto said. Too easy, though he didn’t want to jinx it by saying so. 

“As easy as going to Altissia to get married,” Future Noctis said with a rueful sort of not-smile. “Be prepared for anything. The Scourge isn’t as strong yet, but most of the Royal Arms are still well-guarded.” 

“And who knows what Ardyn might do,” Future Prompto added. “Either of ‘em.” His voice was grim, and he rubbed absently at his wrist. Prompto couldn’t suppress a shiver of his own, remembering the man’s hand around his throat, his unnatural strength and the unearthly chill of his body against Prompto’s back. 

“ _Our_ Ardyn is still in the Crown City under royal guard,” Future Ignis said gently. “And there’s no reason for this timeline’s Ardyn to make an appearance. He doesn’t know about us, nor that anything has changed about Prince Noctis’s situation that would require him to interfere.” 

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Noct said. He reached down to squeeze Prompto’s shoulder, then pulled his hand away. “Ew, you’re still sticky.” 

Prompto elbowed him in the leg. “And you get to spend five hours in the car with me, buddy!” 

The grim mood faded as Noctis groaned in exaggerated princely despair and the others laughed. Even though nerves had twisted his stomach into knots, Prompto found himself smiling, too. 

* * *

Despite what he’d said to Noct, Prompto didn’t actually want to spend five hours in a car covered with crusty dried sweat. While the others broke down the camp and packed the cars, he took a spare bottle of water and headed down the side of the haven into the shelter of the trees. Stripping to his shorts, he dribbled the water over his shoulders and back, doing his best to rinse away the worst of the sweat. 

He’d nearly finished when he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching through the underbrush. His future self’s voice called, “Hey, uh. Mini-me, you around?” 

A chill flashed through Prompto. He’d mostly managed to avoid his future self since the whole gun incident yesterday, had even mostly managed to put it out of his mind. Future Prompto hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he’d had a bad time during the future apocalypse; Prompto shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d reacted badly to being snuck up on, even if Prompto hadn’t meant to sneak. 

But he couldn’t forget the sight of a gun barrel inches from his nose. 

Before he could decide how to respond, his future self crashed around the tree hiding Prompto from the haven. He stopped short when he saw Prompto, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” Prompto managed back. 

“Sorry for barging in on your shower, or whatever,” Future Prompto said. “Not a lot of chances to talk without everyone else breathing down our necks.” 

Prompto shrugged a shoulder and made himself go back to scrubbing the sweat off his skin. “‘S fine. Not our first talk over a shower, anyway.” 

Future Prompto’s mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Yeah. Though I don’t really want to make a habit out of it.”

“Well, it’s not going to be a problem after tonight, right?” Prompto said, then added quickly, “I mean, it’s just, you guys are heading to Niflheim, so…”

“Yeah,” his future self agreed. 

There was an awkward pause, long enough that Prompto finished rinsing off and got dressed again. His skin was still wet, but they didn’t have any spare towels, and this way he could pretend the dampness of his clothes was from the water on his skin, rather than sweat. 

_Ew._ Roughing it wasn’t nearly as fun as the comic books made it look. 

His future self was looking up into the trees, scuffing his feet, twisting from side to side in a way that Prompto was all too familiar with: he was nervous and working up to saying something. Prompto was just starting to wonder how to say _what did you want_ without sounding rude when his future self finally said, “So, uh. I…” He hesitated, then said all in a rush, “I wanted to apologize. For yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto interrupted hurriedly. “Really. I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” his future self muttered. “It’s not fine. I pulled a gun on you. Damn near _killed_ you.”

“And I snuck up on you,” Prompto said. “After you told me never to turn my back on anyone.” He forced a smile, trying not to let the shiver that ran down his spine show on his face. “Think I learned my lesson.” 

“No, look. I’m—I’m sorry.” His future self blew out a sigh. “I just… After it—After.” His hand drifted up to touch the spot over his heart where an innocuous little scar lurked beneath his shirt. “It wasn’t the last time. I’ve had to watch my back for years. It’s…”

“Awful,” Prompto supplied quietly, when his future self trailed off. “I’m sorry.” 

Future Prompto shook his head. Took a deep breath and bounced once on his toes, like he was trying to shake off the conversation. “Anyway. Ardyn was behind a lot of that. And he’s already attacked you once. He’s in the Crown City now and probably doesn’t know where we are, but…” He finally met Prompto’s eyes, his own gaze deadly serious. “Watch your back.” 

Prompto shivered. “Why’s he got it out for us so bad, anyway? I mean, I know someone said the other night that he can… can _use_ us to make Noct do stuff, but…” His voice turned small. “Why _us?”_

His future self huffed out another sigh, this one frustrated and annoyed. “Verstael Besithia,” he said simply. When Prompto frowned at him, he elaborated, “As far as I could tell from Besithia’s notes in the research facility, he’s the one who dug Ardyn out of the prison on Angelgard and, I dunno, got him up to speed after thousands of years of imprisonment, whatever that looks like.” He smirked humorlessly. “Apparently our dearly beloved ‘dad’ is so awful he made Ardyn hate him even after all that.”

“Great,” Prompto groaned. “So Ardyn’s picking on us because he hates the freak we’re _cloned_ from.” He sank back against the nearest tree and dropped his head into his hands. “My life was so much simpler four days ago.” 

A hand fell on his shoulder; he looked up to find his future self giving him a rueful smile. “We always wanted to be like the heroes in those old video games. Turns out there’s an ugly flip side to all the exciting adventures and saving princesses.” 

“Princes,” Prompto corrected. “We’re gonna save Noct, right? That’ll make it all worth it.” 

His future self’s smile softened. “Yeah,” he agreed. “For Noct, anything’s worth it.” 

A soft wind rustled through the leaves of the trees overhead. From the direction of the haven came raised voices, laughter. _Noct’s_ laughter. Prompto grinned at his future self. “We’d better get back to him, then, huh?” He pushed away from the tree without waiting for a response - then tagged his future self on the shoulder. “Race you!”

“Hey!” his future self yelled. “Cheater!”

But Prompto was already running, back to Noct’s side where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! It's a happy chapter! :D


	28. Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Noctis receives his birthright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't figure out why this fic was fighting me so badly until I realized that it was missing something. 
> 
> Namely, Ardyn Izunia.

**Noctis (Age 30)**

* * *

Noctis remembered their first visit to the Tomb of the Just being relatively uneventful: no creepy dungeons to delve, no major daemons lying in wait. At the same time, with nothing to make it stand out, it blurred into the rest of his memories of traveling around central Lucis and visiting the other royal tombs. He almost didn’t see the unassuming dirt road that dipped off the paved highway into the woods, and even after turning their car onto the side road, the place didn’t seem familiar at all. Maybe he’d been napping the first time they’d come. 

He found a spot to park by the side of the dirt track, near what had once been a parking lot for the old grain mill just visible under the trees and which was now a junkyard for abandoned vehicles. The four of them climbed out, stretching from the long trip, and gathered under a battered old sign that read “Thommels Glade” at the foot of a barely-there trail running up past the grain silos. 

Noct kept half an eye on their younger selves’ car as it pulled in behind theirs. The kids piled out, Young Noctis and Young Prompto in the middle of a heated debate about the best character in _Justice Monsters V_. Young Gladio interjected occasionally with a contrary opinion and a smirk that said he was only doing it to rile them up, and Young Ignis was trying to look above it all but Noct knew him well enough to see the amusement in his eyes. 

It was a relief, seeing them joking around like that. Everyone had seemed to be in relatively high spirits this morning when they left the haven, and Noctis was _really_ hoping the good mood would hold. There’d been too much drama and hurt the past couple of days. Even his own Prompto seemed to be doing better, chattering aimlessly during the drive the way he’d used to, and Ignis and Gladio were at least being civil to each other. 

Maybe things were finally starting to go right. 

“So where’s this tomb?” Young Gladio asked as they joined the adults at the edge of the woods under the sign. 

“About five miles that way,” Gladio answered, hooking a thumb westward. Young Noctis groaned, and Gladio added, “We warned you it’d be a hike.” Without waiting for an answer, he started up the faint trail. 

The rest of them fell into step behind him. As they walked, Young Prompto elbowed Young Noctis in the ribs. “Five miles isn’t that bad. Bet we’ll see something cool along the way!” 

“Sure,” Gladio said dryly. “If you like trees.” 

“Aww,” Young Prompto said with a pout. “I was hoping for some cool fauna. No, wait, is it flora? Fauna,” he corrected himself before anyone could answer. “It’s fauna.” 

Ignis chuckled. “Be careful what you wish for, and be glad it’s not raining.”

“Why?” Young Ignis asked.

“Gigantoads,” Noctis told them. 

“Those are real?” Young Noctis asked, startled. “I thought my dad made them up.” 

“Ah, yes, he used to tell you stories of his escapades as a youth,” Ignis said. “They were quite ribbeting, to hear you recount them.” 

“Specs!” Noctis protested.

“Apologies,” Ignis said, completely deadpan. “I’d frogotten your dislike of puns.” 

“I’m sure he’ll frogive you soon enough,” Young Ignis said, equally deadpan, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. 

Noctis and his younger self groaned in unison, and Noctis said, “Oh no,” at the same time his younger self said, “There’s two of them.” 

“You shouldn’t leap to conclusions like that,” Ignis said to his own younger self. “As you can see, it’s been a decade and he isn’t any hoppier with them.” 

“He never toad me he doesn’t like puns,” Young Prompto jumped in. 

“Prompto!” Young Noctis protested, swooning dramatically in betrayal.

“Careful,” Ignis said. “They might croak under all this pressure.” 

Young Noctis said despairingly, “They’re going to keep this up the entire way to the tomb, aren’t they?” 

Noct buried his face in his hands. 

* * *

The Ignises did eventually run out of steam, but not before going through toad puns, frog puns, water puns, tree puns, and finally car puns by way of Young Noctis complaining he was tired. It helped that the trail to the tomb was on a shallow but steady incline; even though they were all in good shape, the constant uphill path began to take its toll on their ability to walk and talk at the same time. The quiet serenity of the forest might have also been a factor; there was something peaceful about walking through the trees in the warm, diluted glow of the midday sun through the canopy. Even the growing ache of the wound on Noct’s hip seemed to fade under the forest’s calm. 

Around two hours after they’d left the cars, the glade in which the royal tomb rested came into view: a broad open meadow, its entrance flanked by elegant stonework meant to evoke a grand doorway, the graceful curves and broken pillars of the tomb itself just visible through the opening. The kids slowed as they approached, examining the tawny stone of the entryway, while Noct and the other adults kept going out into the meadow. Gladio and Prompto were visibly on alert for any dangers - aggressive wildlife or otherwise - though Ignis seemed more melancholy than watchful. 

Noctis bumped Ignis’s shoulder with his own and said quietly, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis said, quickly enough that Noctis didn’t believe him, and Noct nudged him again. Ignis smiled ruefully. “Talcott and I spent a great deal of time, several years ago, exploring the royal tombs in the hope of discovering more information about the gods’ prophecy and your destiny. Unfortunately,” he admitted, “we found little we hadn’t already known.” 

Noct made a quiet sound of acknowledgement. It was no wonder Ignis seemed unhappy, then - the tombs had been a place of dashed hope for him. 

Before he could say anything else, Young Noctis jogged up to walk next to him. “So that’s it, huh?” he asked, nodding toward the weather-stained gray stone of the tomb. “Seems kinda… sad.” 

“Yeah,” Noct agreed. He knew exactly what his younger self meant; he remembered how he’d felt upon seeing the tombs for the first time. Ancient stonework, broken and forgotten, worn down and stained by centuries of exposure to the elements. A lonely resting place, surrounded by stone walls and stone guardians, separated from everyone and everything the dead monarch had once cared about. “Come on.” 

He led his younger self up the shallow steps and across the parvis, then down into the recessed entryway. The statue of the robed Messenger above the doorway watched them with blank stone eyes as he pulled out the tomb key Cor had given him, months and years ago. He unlocked the doors, then, as they slid open, turned to his younger self and pressed the key into his hand. “This key will open all the tombs. It’s yours now.” 

Young Noctis nodded solemnly. Noct stepped through the doorway into the tomb, tasting the stale dry air - the scent of death and destiny. He circled around the sarcophagus in the center of the room, so he was standing behind it as his younger self approached, a mirror of how he and Cor had stood the first time Noctis had visited a tomb. His own friends stood to either side of him, Gladio and Ignis at straight-backed Crownsguard attention and even Prompto doing a passable stance. The other kids gathered in a loose semicircle behind Young Noctis, looking warily around the tomb. 

Somewhere deep in his chest, Noctis’s own magic thrummed: his connection to the Just Queen, forged when he’d claimed her shield as his own. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it was supposed to have been - how it _had_ once been, centuries ago when the ruling monarch could travel to the tombs with their heir and perform this ritual together, before the war with Niflheim cost the Lucis Caelums their access to their own ancestors’ graves. 

...It didn’t matter. Whether or not they succeeded in changing destiny, in saving Young Noctis from the fate which awaited him, the power of the Crystal and the Arms would no longer be necessary after the Starscourge was destroyed. Young Noctis would be the last Lucis Caelum to make this pilgrimage. 

“The power of our forebears,” Noctis said to his younger self, his voice coming out deep and solemn under the weight of the tomb’s still air. “A bond forged between souls. To claim your forebears’ Arms is your birthright, and your duty as the future king.” 

Young Noctis nodded, equally solemn. He didn’t need to be told what to do any more than Noctis had; he raised a hand over the center of the sarcophagus and the stone shield which covered the carved image of the Just Queen. The Crystal’s magic hummed, turning the stone into radiant blue-white crystal. The Shield of the Just lifted off the sarcophagus and rose overhead, shining in the dimness of the tomb for a moment before— 

Noctis closed his eyes at the last second, Bahamut’s vision of his own death at the hands of these same weapons flashing through his memory. 

A hand rested on his arm; without looking he knew it was Ignis. Noct leaned into the touch and made himself open his eyes. Ignis stood beside him, but to his surprise, Gladio and Prompto had also moved close, Gladio a solid presence at his shoulder, his fingers just brushing Noct’s back, and Prompto with one hand outstretched. Noctis caught his hand and held it, letting his friends’ presence ground him. 

On the other side of the sarcophagus, the kids had reacted with surprise and no little awe, backing away and staring at Young Noctis. Young Noctis himself touched a hand to the center of his chest where the ghostly shield had struck him, then looked up at Noct. 

“That’s only the first,” Noctis said. “You need to collect the rest to have a hope of standing against the Starscourge.”

“Nine more in Lucis,” Young Noctis said. “One in Niflheim. And… others you don’t want me to get.” 

The weight in his voice told Noctis he’d remembered that Regis was a King of Lucis, who wielded a weapon of his own. Noct nodded. “There may be more hidden out there - there were a hundred and twelve Lucis Caelums before Dad - but focus on those for now. Once you have them, you’ll be ready to join us in Tenebrae.” 

“And then we’ll rescue Luna, find a way to save Dad and Insomnia, and stop the Starscourge,” Young Noctis said. 

He glanced around at the other kids, but before he could say anything, Young Ignis said, “We’re at your side, Noct. The whole way.” Young Gladio and Young Prompto both nodded agreement. 

Adult Ignis’s hand tightened on Noct’s arm, a silent reminder that they, too, would remain at his side. Noct swallowed, giving himself a moment to make sure his voice came out steady. “Let’s go,” he said. “We want to have enough time to stop at the Coernix station for those showers.” 

“Showers!” Young Prompto exclaimed, and tugged Young Noctis’s arm. “Now _there’s_ a blessing from the gods. Come on!” 

It was enough to lighten the mood, which quickly devolved into joking about their varying degrees of stench and the adults being accustomed to not having showers at all. Young Noctis seemed distracted, though, and Noctis kept an eye on him as they made their way out of the tomb and toward the trail back to the cars. 

They were halfway across the meadow when Young Noctis stepped to the side, separate from the group. Noctis felt the surge of magic tugging under his ribs, and put out a hand to keep Young Gladio from following him. Young Noctis called the Shield of the Just to his arm, wobbling a little as he adjusted to its weight, then dismissed it and called his Engine Blade instead. 

Then he flung the blade straight ahead - and warped after it with a crack. 

Young Noctis clearly hadn’t expected it to work, because he came out the other side of the warp in an ungainly flop and landed flat on his face with an _oof!_ But he’d done it: he’d managed a warp, two full years earlier than Noct himself had managed it, and Noct let out a whoop of pure joy. Both Gladios yelled as well, the others joining in a moment later as they realized what had happened. Young Noctis shoved himself upright, looking first to Young Gladio, then Noctis. “I did it!” he exclaimed. “I did it, I warped!”

“You did,” Noct said. He was grinning so widely it hurt, proud beyond words of his younger self. 

Young Gladio ran over to Young Noctis, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up into a back-thumping hug. “Knew you could do it, kid.” 

Young Noctis hugged him back, then broke free and ran up to Noct, flinging his arms around him in a fierce embrace. Caught off-guard, Noctis staggered, but got his balance back and returned the hug. He’d seen the frustration in his younger self’s eyes last night after every unsuccessful warp attempt, remembered his own rage and shame as a teenager as he’d tried and failed to use the magic of his bloodline. “Congrats,” he said into his younger self’s hair. “I’m proud of you.” 

His younger self squeezed him tighter for a moment, then pulled away, and Noctis pretended not to notice the shine of tears in his eyes. He clapped the kid on the shoulder instead, pushing him toward Young Ignis and Young Prompto, who were waiting their turn to embrace him. 

“I can feel it now,” Young Noctis said to Noct when he’d finally disentangled himself. “Last night, I didn’t know what you meant, but when I got the Shield of the Just I thought, maybe that was it, and it _was_ , it _worked_.” He turned away from them all, calling his sword to his hand and flinging it again. This time, he came out of the warp balanced enough to land on his feet, and he immediately turned and did it again. He raised his arm to throw his sword a third time, but wobbled suddenly, his eyes going wide in a way Noct recognized.

“Take it easy,” Noct called, not bothering to hide his amusement. “It’s really draining at first.” 

Young Gladio was already at Young Noctis’s side, hooking an arm around his shoulders and steadying him. “He’s right, Noct. You’ve got the technique. We can practice more at the haven tonight.” 

“Yeah,” Young Noctis agreed. He let Young Gladio steer him out of the meadow onto the trail downhill through the forest, and Noct and the others followed them. Despite the onset of stasis, Young Noctis grinned wide the whole way back to the cars.

* * *

The drive to the Cauthess Coernix station was another three or so hours, and Noctis was sick of driving by the time he pulled into the station’s parking lot. The Cauthess station was one of the biggest in Lucis, being on the route for visitors to the Disc from Lestallum, and its lot stretched nearly three hundred feet along the side of the highway. An enormous rock formation jutted into the air behind it, a long-broken part of one of the stone arches that soared over central Lucis. The station maintained a caravan off to the side, protected from the worst of the elements by the curving rock. Beyond it, a little market and food service area sprawled across the far end of the lot, and one of the hunters’ weapons vans took up several parking spaces closer to the station itself. 

Noctis remembered it as a bustling place, full of Disc tourists and others passing through on their way between Taelpar and Lestallum. It didn’t surprise him that the station was even busier now, two years before the Imperial blockades and shorter days had made travel difficult. A crowd at least two dozen strong was packed around the tables at the market end of the lot, the babble of their voices audible even from this far away. 

“So… shower?” Young Prompto said eagerly as they all climbed out of the cars, his gaze on the caravan. 

“Yup,” Gladio said, sounding amused. He caught Young Prompto by the arm as the kid started to jog toward the caravan. “But we gotta go inside first, see if there’s a tipster we can turn those bounties in to so we can pay.” 

“Right,” Young Prompto groaned. “Money.” 

“Don’t worry,” Young Gladio said. “We’ll do some hunts and be rolling in cash soon enough.” 

Gladio snorted, earning a glare from his younger self. Noctis ignored them, pushing open the door to the station’s main building and looking around. The shelves were full, but the station was completely empty of people - not even a clerk manning the cash register. “Hello?” he called. 

“Noct,” Prompto said softly. Noctis followed his gaze to where an open can of soda lay sideways on a counter, soda dripping out into a puddle on the floor beneath. Nearby, a half-full shopping basket had been abandoned on the floor beside a shelf, and a magazine had been dropped haphazardly on a freezer. 

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asked. 

“Shop’s empty,” Prompto said, unease in his voice, and Noct glanced back in time to see him rubbing his arms. “Like everyone dropped their stuff and ran out.” 

“There were plenty of people at the market,” Ignis said. “Perhaps the clerk stepped away for a moment?” 

“Maybe,” Noctis said, though a shiver ran up his spine anyway. Something wasn’t right here. 

“They usually hang a sign,” Gladio added. “But let’s go look.” 

They backed out of the shop, the kids following nervously, and headed across the lot to the big group of people gathered around the tables. As they got closer, Noct realized that the tone of their voices wasn’t the cheerful, casual chatter of tourists or travelers, but hushed, worried whispers. Over the whispers, he heard the clipped voice of a radio announcer saying something about Niflheim, though he couldn’t make out the rest of the words. His gut twisted. 

“What’s going on?” Gladio demanded of the crowd at large as they approached. 

A few people glanced up, their eyes wide and their faces drawn. “You haven’t heard yet?” a man said.

“We just got here,” Ignis said in his polite voice.

Noctis wasn’t that patient. “Heard what?” he demanded. 

The man turned to look him in the eye. “The king’s been murdered.”


End file.
